


The Miscellaneous Ship Drabbles & Ficlets Collection

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Femslash February, Femslash February 2017, Femslash February 2018, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 21,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: Here is a place for my AOS ship-related drabbles for ships that I don't usually write for. Each drabble is separate and the focus ship of each is identified in the 'chapter title' of the drabble so you can pick your poison.Most recent chap: Mackelena + "Mack finds out Elena is bi"Please note that FitzSimmons, Skimmons, FitzSkimmons and platonomy-centric fics about various team combos each have their own collections (linked within). This is for romantic-centric fics other than those named, that are too short etc to warrant their own posts.





	1. MockingNerd

**Author's Note:**

> set around 3x04, canon compat (ish)  
> Simmorse/Mockingnerd ft. platonic Fitz

You may also be interested in the [FitzSimmons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5863714/chapters/13515487), [Skimmons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5864041/chapters/13516015), and [Platonic Team](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7295626/chapters/16569091) drabble & ficlet collections.

-

Bobbi knocked lightly on the door, and tensed slightly as Simmons tensed and Fitz helped ease her down from it.

“Sorry,” she said. “Can I steal Simmons for a second?”

“Yeah, of course.” Fitz was already standing up. He glanced back over his shoulder at Simmons. “Yeah?”

Simmons nodded, smiling intermittently.

“Okay.” Fitz hovered for a moment, but as Bobbi took a step further into the room, he quietly slipped away, fixing his concerned eyes on hers until she nodded her understanding and promise to be careful.

“Hey…”

“Please don’t.”

“Sorry.”

Bobbi sat down where Fitz had. Simmons twisted her fingers together and sighed softly.

“Fitz told me,” Bobbi confessed after a moment, “that you had nightmares. He’s really worried about you.”

“I know.”

“So am I.”

“I know.” Simmons sucked in a breath and blinked as tears fought their way into her eyes. “Ah, damn.”

“He, um- he said you said you were being hunted? What’s that about? How long’s that been going on? Was there something on the planet, or…has this been going on longer than that?”

Simmons snorted and shrugged. “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve worked with soldiers my whole career, Jemma,” Bobbi pointed out. “It messes people up. You’re not the only one.”

“You too? Okay, I have to get back to-“ Simmons moved to stand up, but Bobbi shook her head, begging for more time.

“I’m not trying to push. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to – but I really, really do think you should tell somebody. Please? Who do you want to talk to, if not Fitz, or me? Daisy? May? Somebody outside? We’ll find who ever you want. We all just want to look after you.”

“I know that. I’m just…I’m dealing. Like I have been for months. It’s under control.”

Simmons forcibly pulled her breathing back under control. Bobbi eased her hands into Simmons’ field of vision, gently prying apart her worrying fingers.

“Months?” Bobbi asked gently.

“It started at Hydra,” Simmons confessed. “I kept thinking somebody would find out – somebody _had_ to find out. Maybe it was still Ward, chasing us, bothering me, I don’t know. The…thing…it never had a face. I never saw it. It was just always following me. The more scared I got, the faster it ran.

It went away when we got back. I don’t know, I think I felt…safe? Y’know? Knowing that you were here – that you’d been looking after me that whole time – it made me feel better. Then, the, uh – the Monolith, took me, and there was nothing anybody could do. Nobody to protect me. Just me. Against the entire planet.”

“Yeah, and you kicked that planet’s ass.”

Simmons shrugged.

“Did I? I just lived. Everything I tried beyond that, failed. I kept my head above water, that’s all.”

“You of all people should know, keeping your head above water can be the hardest thing in the world sometimes.”

Simmons sighed.

“How did you do it? How did you go from being…a lab rat, to being…”

“This awesome?” Bobbi grinned. “All in good time, my Padawan. And it’s not easy. And I’m not as together as I look, trust me.”

“I hear that.”

“Do you, though?” With a sparkle in her eye, Bobbi gently squeezed Simmons’ hands. “I feel like there’s a certain word you might have missed…”

“Wait.”

Bobbi watched Simmons replay it in her head. Watched the realisations tick through her.

“Wait,” Simmons repeated, dropping Bobbi’s hands and drawing back, startled. “Padawan? Like, as in –“

Bobbi nodded.

“Just a heads up, this means I’m gonna be on your ass. You’re gonna get up early, train hard – but so help me, that nightmare’s going to be flailing in a volcano when I’m done with you.”

“Mmm, Darth Vader? Probably not the best example.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should rewatch for a better one.”

“Please. You know them all off by heart.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“New Hope’s already in the X-box.” Simmons stood up proudly, then frowned, and turned back to Bobbi. “Wait, does this mean you’re going to become a Force ghost and follow me around? Because that’s not exactly what I meant when I said I felt safer with you around.”

“Mmm, Obi-Wan?” Bobbi mimicked. “Awesome but dead guy? Probably not the best example.”

“I see what you did there.”

“Ah, but do you?” Bobbi waved her hand in a sunset shape – _these are not the droids you are looking for_. Simmons rolled her eyes, but as she moved to the lounge and set them up, the smile didn’t flicker off her face.


	2. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Can you help me up? Your child is pretty heavy"  
> Simmorse/Mockingnerd, ft. platonic Fitz.

“You’re going to eat the whole tub?”

Bobbi shrugged.

“I’m sympathy-eating. One of us has to.”

“Wouldn’t sympathy eating require me to be eating too? Or to at least be stressed?”

“Are you not stressed?”

Simmons scowled up at Bobbi as best she could.

“Why would I be stressed?” she retorted. “I haven’t _done_ anything all week.”

“Except be beautiful and amazing.” Bobbi leant over the back of the couch and pecked Jemma with a minty chocolate kiss. “Seriously though, Jemma. If I could swap uteruses with you I would, but they haven’t worked that out yet.”

“I’ll get right on it. Ugh. Pass me the ice-cream.”

“You made me promise not to.”

“I take it back.” Simmons groaned and scrunched her face in an exaggerated expression of discomfort, until she felt the carton pressed into her hands.

“You have nobody to blame but yourself,” Bobbi warned.

“And the failure of science to develop bodyswitching pregnancy technology,” Simmons managed, over a mouthful.

“Yeah, probably because we’d insist guys try it.”

“Fair’s fair.” Simmons swallowed. “But first I actually have to re-run a blood test. And stick my nose in Fitz’ business. He probably has pretzels. How well do you reckon pretzels go with ice-cream?”

She looked up at Bobbi with sparkling, hopeful eyes as Bobbi rounded the end of the couch.

“Oh dear, I’ve fed the gremlin,” she lamented. “It begins.”

“I told you not to feed me after five before dinner. This is your fault. Bring me to the pretzels?”

“If you want the pretzels bad enough, you’ll find a way. Dinner is literally in the oven. Daisy’s making ratatouille – your favourite?”

“I do want them bad _ly_ enough. My way is you. This is your baby in here.”

“Maybe you should add double female insemination to your list of career goals.”

“Maybe I should, but that doesn’t get you out of this. Pretzels, Barbara. Stat.”

“Sure thing J-dog.” Bobbi smiled slyly in revenge. “Simmizzle. Lady Jemmington.”

Simmons glared, but then as daintily as any tiny, exhausted, bizarrely balanced pregnant scientist could, hauled herself to her feet with the aid of Bobbi’s outstretched hands.

“Oh, hey, Jemma, there you are,” Fitz greeted, striding into the room with his tablet in one hand, a crumpled package in the other. “I was wondering what your thoughts were on-“

He paused. He was holding the tablet screen out for Simmons, but her eyes fixed for just a moment longer than they should have, on the empty pretzel packet.

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes moved to his face.

“Hm? Yes? Fine?” She all but snatched the tablet off him, trying to distract herself. Fitz took the opportunity to slip away into the kitchen, and return with a tiny Tupperware container full of pretzels. He slipped it into Bobbi’s free hand – the other being still on Simmons – and the two shared a high-five of crinkled noses as he stepped back and put his hands on his hips.

“Don’t worry,” he offered. “I’ll talk you through it after dinner.”

He took the tablet from Simmons. She didn’t fight it – she’d read nothing; couldn’t even say what she’d just been asked to look at. But no matter. Bobbi was waving a pretzel dipped in green ice cream in front of her nose, and Fitz was already making his escape.


	3. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "there's enough room for both of us"  
> Simmorse/Mockingnerd, set around 3x03/3x04 ish.  
> steamy (both figuratively and literally)

Bobbi rubs her hands over her face and down her shoulders, easing the frustration out as hot water blasts over her skin. Part of her wants to hold onto this, to keep it as her personal pit of bitterness she gets to revel in – a safe place, of sorts; somewhere to hide, somewhere to shove all negative emotions, not just these ones. But she knows she has to let it go. If nothing else, it will help her recover faster, and she can get back on her feet and back out there. That’s what she really wants, at the end of the day. Right?

There’s a knock, distracting Bobbi from the path she’s about to think herself down.

“Who is it?” Out of habit, one hand reaches for the tap, the other for the shower doorhandle.

“Jemma.”

Bobbi smiles at the name.

“Come in.”

Though she shouldn’t be, she’s still a little surprised to see the strange, fuzzy silhouette of Simmons in a dressing gown pad into the room. The steam from the shower feels a little warmer as the silhouette of Simmons stops by the sink. The lighting obscures her now, but Bobbi keeps an eye on where the silhouette should reappear.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Her tone is perfectly innocent. Despite that – or perhaps because of it – or perhaps because of the rush of wondering just how calculated Simmons is being – Bobbi flushes. The slim, smooth, naked silhouette of Simmons appears back in the light, and for a moment, Bobbi can’t answer. The feeling of the water seems to have disappeared now, as though there’s just this cloud of heady, swooning warmth instead.

“Well?” Simmons glances back over her shoulder, checking where the light is, and exposing a playful side-shot of her chest to Bobbi’s view. 

“Sure!” She shakes her head at her own pitiful eagerness.  She looks around for something to claw her way back to normalcy. “I – uh – I haven’t moved my shower chair yet. It might be a little cramped.”

Simmons pulls the shower door open, frowns at the chair as she lifts it out, and steps into the space she’s opened up.

“There, see? There’s enough room for both of us.”

But she doesn’t use the space. She steps in, so that they’re almost pressed flush against each other. Bobbi’s glad Simmons can’t see her face properly; she closes her eyes and groans silently as Simmons brushes a finger gingerly over the scars that litter Bobbi’s torso. Simmons avoids the newer ones, but there are still plenty.

“How many times have you – Of course, you probably wouldn’t know,” Simmons murmurs, probably to herself. She steps back enough that she can look up at Bobbi.

“That’s amazing,” Simmons tells her, blushing uncontrollably. “I mean, they must have hurt, but…to put yourself back out there again and again, after all that, you’re- you’re so brave, you’re amazing.”

“Looks like you’re starting a collection there yourself,” Bobbi replies. She eases herself downward, and hears Simmons gasp a little as she examines more closely the scarring on Simmons’ leg.

“It’s rough.” She touches it experimentally, and strays upward, letting her touch linger just a little, until she feels Simmons shiver. “Did you stitch this up yourself?”

“Yeah. Don’t see what the fuss is about to be honest. Didn’t even have any alcohol.” Simmons lets out a laugh that’s more on the giddy side than the smooth, confident one she’s clearly aiming for, and Bobbi smiles darkly. They’re already on incomplete sentences.

“Must have hurt, though.” Bobbi can’t quite reach low enough to kiss the actual scar, so she starts where she is, at the knee. Simmons reaches back, scrabbling at the tiles, and stops herself kicking back as Bobbi moves higher.

“Yeah, but part of me still thought Will was gonna – might –k-kill me, so,” 

Simmons’ head falls back. The conversation has lost its train, lost its purpose; it means nothing now, so she lets it go. It should be cold back here, out of the stream of the water, but with steamy air filling her lungs and scalding heat from Bobbi’s touch creeping into her bloodstream it’s almost stiflingly hot.

“You’re amazing,” Bobbi murmurs, lips still half-pressed against Simmons’ skin. “But my doctor says I shouldn’t kneel for too long while my knee’s still healing.”

“Mm, she’s right.” Simmons smirks at Bobbi’s tease. “We should definitely continue this in a more reclined position.”

“I know a place.”


	4. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: No-one believes Bobbi when she says that Jemma is the kinky one/Domme in their relationship  
> definite T for sexual references, but in more of a fluff than a smut context.  
> Simmorse/Mockingnerd + platonic Daisy.
> 
> Bobbi asks Daisy for help choosing Jemma’s birthday present, and it’s definitely not what Daisy expects.

 

Bobbi scrolled through the options, rolling her bottom lip through her fingers absently as she considered her options. Jemma’s birthday was coming up, and she had a few ideas, but she wanted it to be big and special and right. And screamingly sexy, of course. Which meant that every time she managed to narrow it down to a few options, she discovered something else and went off on a tangent, and here she was, scrolling for gifts three days before Jemma’s birthday, as if she hadn’t been thinking about it for weeks.

 _I need another pair of eyes,_ she thought, and as if on cue, Daisy came through the doorway, making a bee-line for the fridge behind Bobbi.

“Hey,” she greeted, upon seeing Bobbi shift at her entrance.

“Hey, Daisy,” Bobbi greeted, but it sounded like the beginning of a question. “Could you take a look at this for me? It’s Jemma’s birthday and I’m not sure what she’d prefer.”

“Sure!” Twisting the top off a bottle of beer, Daisy leant over the back of the couch and took Bobbi’s laptop off her. She saw what Bobbi was looking at and gasped, and had to twist so that the beer sloshed outwards instead of onto the computer screen.

“What?” Bobbi raised an eyebrow at her, genuinely confused.

“I – uh, it’s just –“ Daisy handed the laptop back, unable to see past the multitude of colours and shapes she’d just seen, some of which she was pretty sure shouldn’t exist, let alone exist for…that.

“I mean, you’ve known her longer than I have, that’s all,” Bobbi explained. “What do you think she’d like?”

“Um?” Daisy’s voice squeaked. “It’s just, I mean, I don’t - I don’t really know…if a gag gift is…Jemma’s thing.”

_A gag gift? Or an actual gag?_

“Really?” Bobbi frowned at the screen. “Well I guess she does already have one she likes.”

“She what-now?”

Daisy stared as if her whole world was rearranging as Bobbi preoccupied herself with deselecting a few selections from her basket.

“Jemma. Has a gag already. Of course,” Bobbi repeated matter-of-factly. “Maybe she wants something new. Good idea, Daisy.”

“…Sure…”

At last Daisy rounded the lounge chair and flopped into it beside Bobbi, thinking, and trying to reconcile the prim and proper Jemma with her not-so-prim-or-proper gift ideas. Of course, she’d never actually been as ladylike as she had first seemed, and they’d cracked jokes about this sort of thing, but Daisy had always assumed they’d been just that. Just jokes.

 _They always said it was the quiet ones,_ she recalled. And Jemma had always been about challenging herself and trying new things.

“Boots!” Bobbi exclaimed all of a sudden. “Girl needs boots.”

“Why would she need boots? What? Why?” Daisy blurted. _I spent all this time having a revelation about the sexual habits of my best friend and now we’re back to footwear?_

But of course they weren’t “back” to footwear exactly. There were many uses for boots. Especially for a very short, very kinky young woman with highly concentrated passion and determination, and an extremely tall girlfriend.

Bobbi smirked to herself as she opened a new page, imagining the way Jemma’s legs and buttocks would curve in the tall heels. Imagining the startling colours she would wear with them. Black. Bright red. Rich, royal purple. Corsets. Baby-dolls. _Lace corsets_ , for the best of both worlds. Her mouth was all but watering.

“You _cannot_ be serious right now,” Daisy gasped. “Jemma? In that? Jemma does – Jemma is – No way. With you?”

Jemma could be a presence and a half, there was no denying that, but the thought of her in all her blazer-and-tennis-shoe-wearing, double-phD-having glory, wielding such a specific brand of power over the tall, well-muscled, highly-trained Bobbi Morse with her warrior build and ice-blue eyes…it was too much. Daisy gaped.

“No way,” she repeated. Bobbi nodded to herself, a little distracted by visions of Jemma but not enough to ignore Daisy.

“I get plenty of rush in the real world, thanks very much,” she explained. “Sometimes I just want to do what I’m told. If you know what I mean.”

She flashed Daisy a cheeky grin over the screen, and then they were both distracted by a third presence in the room. Jemma, of course, who pulled out a plate and set it on the bench behind them before noticing that the girls’ conversation had stopped.

“What are you doing over there?” she wondered, a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes as she came over to them.

“Finalising gift ideas,” Bobbi said, bending the laptop screen so Jemma couldn’t see it, and offering her face instead. Jemma kissed her, smiling, and all of a sudden Daisy could see it. How Jemma stood over her so easily, so naturally, so lovingly. How Bobbi bared her neck, exposing herself without sacrificing her grace or strength, like a wolf showing submission.

“The purple one,” Daisy breathed. “Get the dark purple one.”

Jemma hummed in curiosity, and ran a salacious glance over the back of the hidden screen, as if contemplating wheedling Bobbi into showing her.

“I look forward to it,” she purred instead, and returned to the kitchen. “In the mean time, would either of you like a sandwich?”


	5. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "When was the last time you slept? Um? That is not the right answer!"
> 
> Bobbi is pushing herself to recover and Jemma makes her promise to take it slow.  
> Canon compat(ish), est. rshp, hurt/comfort, rated G/G+.

The steady, scratchy pounding sound of the treadmill was worming its way into Jemma’s brain after hours of running through the field agents’ exhaustion tests. They were designed to test various aspects of an Agents’ fitness, from their blood pressure, sugar and other readings to their lung capacity and flexibility. Unfortunately, they were also testing the patience of the doctors assigned to them – especially the one who always seemed to end up on treadmill duty.

“Thank you, Michaelson,” Jemma said, nodding for him to get off. He almost collapsed with relief, but managed to wait until Jemma had slowed the treadmill down and detached him from the instruments before staggering away. Wincing at his agony, Jemma called after him - “Walk it off!” The only thing worse than intentionally wearing oneself out for no reason but to wobble a graph, she thought, was lying in paralyzing agony for days afterward because of irresponsible aftercare.

She turned to her next arrival – Morse – and smiled, though Bobbi’s expression made her heart sink a little.

“How’s exhaustion testing treating you?” Jemma asked, chipper as always, though she scrutinized the grey smudges under Bobbi’s eyes and the pallor of her skin as Jemma set up the reading instruments.

“Oh, you know,” Bobbi responded in similar tone. “Tanking it. Fun.”

Jemma shook her head.

“You should be very proud of where you’re up to,” Jemma assured her. “Not many people could have an injury like yours and make it back that fast.”

 _Or at all,_ she wanted to add, but that might have been too morbid. As it was, Bobbi shrugged, unconvinced.

“I guess,” she said. “But I’ve been testing myself for a while and I think I could do better, usually. I don’t feel like I’m doing my best. Even with this thing.”

She nodded down at her knee and Jemma pursed her lips. Bobbi had been stressed about her injuries, particularly the knee brace, for some time, but it was unlike her to inflate her abilities – or her inabilities – after consciously separating them from her emotional responses.

“You did also have your lung ripped to pieces,” Jemma reminded her.

“I know, I was there.”

“I just meant, maybe you’re dealing with more than you think, that’s all.”

“Check my scores for the last six months. It’s not as good,” Bobbi insisted.

To humour her (and the slight niggling sensation in her own gut) Jemma pulled up the chart Bobbi had been making of her own accord throughout her recovery process. She was glad to start the treadmill and distract Bobbi as she studied the numbers. It must have been so hard for Bobbi to be trapped at such a suboptimal level, to have had her fitness blasted away so suddenly like that. Even up and about, she had nothing on the physical prowess she’d once possessed. Jemma could only hope she would not grow aggressively impatient or depressed at her inability to improve as fast as she clearly wanted to.

Trying not to get herself down, Jemma turned her attention back to Bobbi’s current run. She tested endurance, lung capacity, and the amount and content of sweat. But Bobbi started showing signs of waning early. Far too early.

“I need – I need to stop.” She waved her hand in a cutting motion and Jemma slowed the treadmill down. Once she had removed the mask and electrodes, she offered Bobbi a seat. Immediately, Bobbi began stretching – she knew the pain of lactic acid all too well – but she was gasping for breath.

“Water please?”

Jemma handed her a cup. “Just sip it.”

Bobbi nodded and obeyed, absent. Her attention was in on herself – scolding herself, given the intense frown on her face. Jemma pulled up a seat beside her, and lay a hand on her good knee.

“Bobbi. You can’t do everything. Be kind to yourself, _please.”_

Bobbi met Jemma’s eyes, her chest still heaving.

“I can’t – “ she panted. “It’s just – I wish –“

Breathless, her words refused to come out in full sentences and it only hurt her more. She barely had two working lungs back, she had to remember that, but still, it was a cruel reminder of all that Ward had done.

“We’ll get there,” Jemma assured her. “Your leg, your lung – they can heal, and if you want to get to where you were before, I’m sure you’ll be able to. But only if you _look after yourself.”_

“I _am,”_ Bobbi whined. “I – I exercise and I eat properly and I eat _so much kale_ and I do all those stretches and wear that stupid brace and –“

“And that’s a good start,” Jemma interrupted, “but looking after yourself can mean resting too. Your body is healthy. It’s always going to be working to be well. Sometimes you’ve just got to let it be. When was the last time you slept?”

Bobbi looked up into the corner of her eye, as if trying to recall.

“’Um?’” Jemma summarized, incredulous. “’Um’ is not the right answer!”

Bobbi laughed.

“Okay, Doc.”

“Bobbi! I’m serious! You! Need! Sleep! I swear, you’ve been hanging out with Daisy for too long. Can’t you go make friends with Fitz? That man can _sleep.”_

“Hey, I was married to Hunter for three years. I can osmosise the ability to sleep as well as the next person it’s just – you’re right, it’s my leg and all this. I’m pushing myself too hard, aren’t I?”

Jemma nodded. “It’s only going to hurt you in the long run.”

“I know. It’s just, how many problems can be solved by waiting, you know?”

“A surprising number, I think you’ll find,” Jemma said. “And you might not know this, since you’re apparently some sort of Warrior Princess, but relaxing can actually be quite pleasant. - _Not_ that kind of relaxing I mean _actually_ relaxing.”

“Hey. You said it.” Bobbi raised her hands innocently. “I was just going to suggest a massage.”

Jemma grinned. “Now you’re getting it. You go have a shower and I’ll finish up here. Your bunk or mine?”


	6. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "everyone is in the common room when Bobbi walks in. She walks up and cuddles someone from behind until Jemma walks in the room, confusing her"
> 
> Mockingnerd + platonic Daisy. Complete & shamless fluff

It was a rare night on base when the team could well and truly relax, let alone when they could come together to do so. So, naturally, when the opportunity arose a lot of it was wasted in trying to figure out what to do with it as battles over movies, video games, and pool rounds were won and lost. Tonight, however, people’s decisions were made for them; they were drifting in one by one, and so filled spaces in whatever recreational activity was vacant at the time on a first-come-first-served basis. Mack, Elena and May lounged by the pool table. Hunter and Fitz elbowed each other over X-box.

Bobbi came in and sought out her partner. She wasn’t feeling particularly like one activity or the other. Just being with her friends would do – and especially, with Jemma. They’d had a few exciting escapades and stolen moments over the last few weeks but it would be nice to soak up some team bonding time instead. 

She spied Jemma standing behind the couch, where Hunter and Fitz were scrabbling and cursing at each other as their virtual cars sped around the track and dropped traps for each other. She sidled up and slipped her arms around Jemma’s waist, but instead of stealing a kiss, had to duck out of the way as Jemma cursed a particularly brutal and sudden defeat. 

In hindsight, she should have guessed then. 

But she kept a loose, easy hold around Jemma’s waist, as lazy as the night was turning out. She offered to battle the loser of the next round but her challenge was lost in a round of shouting, Hunter and Fitz each claiming theirs was the legitimate victory. Jemma snorted with laughter. 

Maybe she should have guessed then. 

But it was an embarrassingly long time before she twigged to it. In fact, she practically had to have it rubbed in her face. Slapped, really. Under her nose, as it were.

“Bobbi?” 

At Jemma’s unmistakable voice, Bobbi spun. Jemma was standing in the doorway, stalled like a piston in her brain had failed to fire. 

“You’re already here?” Jemma wondered. 

“You’re not?” Bobbi frowned, and looked from Jemma to the woman who was not Jemma that she had been holding. 

_Daisy._

Daisy had a hand held up to her nose and mouth, stifling laughter that sparkled in her eyes. Bobbi’s eyes widened, incredulous and outraged. 

“When were you going to tell me you weren’t Jemma?!” 

“When were you going to notice I wasn’t the woman you’ve been undressing both literally and mentally for the last – I don’t even know how long? Hm?” Daisy grinned, and turned her eyes on Jemma. “Or was this your idea? Is your girl making a move on me?” 

Bobbi groaned. “I’m just tired, okay? And...I may or may not be a little tipsy, apparently." 

“Hey, I don’t mind a little extra cuddle.” Daisy shrugged. “Honestly, I just wanted to see how long it would take. That’s….three minutes, fifty four seconds, by the way. Give or take.”

Jemma blushed, indignant on Bobbi’s behalf as she realised the attention of the room was on them and, for the most part, laughing. She stuck her nose in the air and stepped up to Daisy’s place, scooting her aside with a swing of her hips. 

“Excuse me, if you don’t mind.” 

Nobody moved, until she gestured a shooing motion with her hands, for them to continue the game.

“Move boys, I’ve got some asses to kick,” Daisy declared, and sprung over the couch to land between them. 

“We’ll play the winner,” Jemma and Bobbi demanded, in enthusiastic unison. The boys all but handed their controllers over before the game had even begun.


	7. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pre-dating Simmorse bedsharing & cuddles aka Fluff Supreme

“Lovebirds, you’re up.” Hunter holds out a key and jerks his chin in the direction of their room. Bobbi makes a show of being annoyed, sticking her chin out back at him as she snatches the key, but when she herds Jemma inside, it is with a laughing smile. 

“We should start bringing snacks to these things,” Jemma says, as she pulls off her blouse and bra and slips into a cotton top. 

“Slumber party?” Bobbi raises an eyebrow, and Jemma shrugs.

“It’s not like we ever get put with anyone else.” 

“True. I just feel like carrying around graham crackers and marshmallows might be an inefficient use of space.” 

“Yeah. And the chocolate would probably melt. But that’s what convenience stores and vending machines are for!” 

Bobbi stares, a little more surprised than perhaps she should be, as Jemma digs a few dollars out of her pocket and grins, then disappears out the door on a snack-hunting mission. At least she’ll know what to get that won’t keep them up, Bobbi thinks, as she changes into something more sleep-friendly. 

Jemma is right, though. They never get put with anyone else these days; in fact, they’re the only ones who ever seem to get put together, when there’s one less bed than there are people. Not because they’re together – no, ‘Lovebirds’ is just a nickname, that had started when Jemma had officially begun her training, and experimenting with aliases, under the tutelage of the Mockingbird. Their comfort and cuddliness around each other had to help, though, Bobbi supposes. And it’s not like they’ve put up much resistance to the pairing system. It’s always been this way, since the luck of the draw stuck them together the very first time they’d had one bed too few. It had started with drawing straws and then they’d realised that Bobbi is too big to share with anyone but the smallest and Jemma is too small to waste a whole bed on, and that somehow, those two manage to sleep comfortably despite filling the bed to maximum capacity. 

And now, bring each other snacks. 

“No graham crackers,” Jemma says apologetically, “but I did find muesli bars.” 

Bobbi rolls her eyes. Only Jemma would harvest muesli bars – and the fancy protein-and-oat kind no less – as a sleepover snack. But Bobbi is pretty hungry, and one of them is apricot, and Jemma looks very proud of her clandestine vending machine haul. So Bobbi takes one and unwraps it. They talk for a while as they pick at their bars, and they get closer and closer as they move around each other until they’re in bed, with sated appetites and lighter minds, cleansed somewhat from the trials of their mission during the day. This satisfaction lends itself to the treatment of exhaustion and they drift off, mutually. 

It’s uncertain who falls asleep first, or who moves first during the night, or who follows, or how, but just like almost every other time before, they wind up spooning and holding each other as comfortable and natural as if they’d always intended it to be that way. It’s uncertain who wakes up first, but at some point before the haze of morning has properly cleared, there’s a knock at the door. 

“Lovebirds!” Daisy shouts. “You up?” 

“Oh great, it’s catching on.” In Jemma’s voice, she pretends to be annoyed, but when she meets Bobbi’s eyes, she’s smiling.


	8. MorseCode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daisy moves to yet another new school, & finds friendship & the spark of love in unlikely places.  
> Fluff, hurt/comfort. MorseCode (Daisy x Bobbi)

Another day, another school. Another lot of kids who’ll barely learn her name before she’s carted off elsewhere. Another lot of makeup classes, so she can catch up and catch up and catch up and never move forward. (And they wonder why she doesn’t try). 

As she walks through the gates, Daisy hitches her computer bag onto her shoulder. It sounds pathetic, but her computer is worth more than anything she’s ever owned, both literally and metaphorically. It’s her most faithful friend. It’s her safety blanket. It’s her mask, that she can’t wait to hide behind while the world watches her, doubts her, draws neat little boxes around her.

 _Oh great, a welcoming committee,_ she thinks, her eyes zoning in on the only group of people who seem to be moving toward her rather than away. She can’t quite identify them yet, but there’s a definite counter-movement. How many are there – two, three, four? 

Then her eyes widen, and her jaw nearly drops. Clear and away over the top of the crowd of other students, a tall blonde with killer cheekbones and icey-blue eyes jogs up to the approaching group. Daisy blinks. She must have imagined that. At least half of it. There was no way it – 

“Hi. You must be Daisy, right? Daisy Johnson? I’m Bobbi.”

The blonde holds a hand out. Daisy doesn’t notice it. Her eyes are full of Bobbi’s dazzling smile and her neck is craned to admire it. 

“This is Jemma and Fitz,” Bobbi continues, unfazed. “How bout I introduce you to the place, show you around?” 

“Hi, yeah,” Daisy manages at last. “I’m Daisy. Yeah.” 

Her neck finally drops and she sees the other faces, smiling just as warmly, and a little teasingly. They seem to _know._ Not that it must have been difficult to figure out what had been going through her mind just now, she had to admit. 

“Great!” Bobbi, of course, doesn’t seem to notice her embarrassing flub – maybe she’s used to it, freaking goddess that she is. Still, Daisy blushes, and clings to her computer bag a little tighter as she follows Bobbi’s peppy step toward the buildings. 

“Don’t worry about it,” whispers the boy with them. “Everyone does that.” 

He must be Fitz, because the girl is probably Jemma. He’s got curly hair and a Scottish accent, and a plaid button-up that’s a little too big. He’s comfortable leaning in on her and bumping her, exceedingly familiar but non-expectant, and Daisy kind of likes that – at least, she would if she wasn’t currently digging herself a grave inside her mind. 

“She’s amazing,” Jemma hisses. She’s shorter than all of them, with mousey-brown hair and a button nose. She dresses like a schoolgirl should, if maybe one from the fifties. “She’s on the cheer squad and captain of the volleyball team and she’s on a fast-track to biochem at Shield. Rumour has it she does Academy classes in her spare time.” 

Daisy’s mental grave-digging gets faster. Not only has she made a fool of herself in front of apparently one of the hottest _and_ smartest girls in school, but with every hot and/or smart thing she finds out, that brief moment of fantasy seems to get farther and farther away, and Daisy remembers, this is not permanent – not even lasting – soon she’s going to disappear from all these people’s lives. She stops digging. It’s strangely comforting, even if this time it does come with a pang of despair. At least they’ll have something to laugh about, she figures. 

Only, she doesn’t leave. 

These parents actually like her and somehow she starts to like them back. They don’t push her, they give her a little trust, and it works. She even starts to pay attention in class again, and she hides behind her laptop less and less. It’s still a friend, a tool, a safety blanket, but not so much a mask. Bobbi and Jemma and Fitz become a squad of friends, and she’s not alone, for once. And Bobbi – well – if she’s not mistaken, if she’s not getting ahead of herself, Bobbi might even be _interested._

Then again, she’s got more important things to worry about. 

“Shit,” she mutters one day, upon getting her most recent report back. It has the grade for the paper itself, and a predictive grade for the semester. She’s managed a B- this time, but it’s not enough to cancel out the other marks marring her record. She’ll still be lucky to pass and there are only a few chances left to drag herself further above that line, above the safety margin. Killer cheekbones and a dazzling smile might have to wait – and wait they do, outside her classroom. 

Bobbi frowns as Daisy hurries out of class like she’s leaving the scene of a crime. Her eyes are a little red and welling, like she’s upset. Bobbi’s plans for the afternoon, for the evening, for the foreseeable future dry up in an instant, banished to the world of five minute earlier when Daisy had been a wise-cracking tough-nut with a gooey caramel centre. Not this – not on the verge of tears, not shaking with stress, not bee-lining for the bathroom as quickly as possible. 

Bobbi follows her, already digging around for a tissue or something she can use. She’s got a lip balm/gloss in the bottom of her bag but nothing else remotely useful. Fortunately, or unfortunately as the case may be, Daisy has already grabbed herself some toilet paper and is in the process of shutting herself in the stall when Bobbi bursts in. She’s not in time to catch the door, but she does make a ruse of asking if the other stall is free. It is. They’re in here alone and Daisy didn’t have to raise her teary voice. 

She sneaks out of the stall.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I’m being stupid, don’t mind me.” 

“What happened?” Bobbi asks. Daisy crinkles her nose, embarrassed to admit it.

“I – I got a bad grade. It’s no big deal, it’s just… I’m not used to it affecting me this much. I was a bit worried I was going to have a full-on breakdown there for a second.” 

Bobbi takes the paper gently, the paper with the bad grades. She does quite a good job of not changing her expression as she reads the list, but Daisy knows what’s on there, and hangs her head. 

“Guess I should start looking for new friends now, huh?” she mutters. “I hope you guys have fun without me.” 

“Wait, what?” Bobbi looks up. “Daisy. You can salvage this! You’re on a D, if you don’t get any worse than that you’ll be fine.” 

Daisy shrugs, and sniffs, and tabs at her face with the toilet paper. “I might pass. _Might._ And if I do, they’ll put me in different classes than you guys coz you’re all bloody geniuses. And if I don’t – I might not be here next year. They might give me back. I’m just being realistic.” 

“It is not realistic to think you don’t deserve friends,” Bobbi critiques, defensive on Daisy’s behalf. “It’s not realistic to think that we would drop you like that. It’s certainly not realistic to think that when you, Daisy Johnson, want something, you can’t achieve it.” 

“Well I can’t!” Daisy threw her hands in the air. “I haven’t been paying attention all year! I can’t learn all that –“ 

“You’ve been to five schools already, you _must_ have covered some of it, and you just might have happened upon the three people both most willing and able to help you in this whole place.” Bobbi’s eyes and her voice are soft and gentle, a soothing solution to Daisy’s erratically declining faith in herself. Bobbi reaches for Daisy’s outstretched arm – even though it has a snotty, teary piece of toilet paper crumpled up in it, and eases Daisy back toward her. Not quite into a hug, but enough to put her hand on Daisy’s shoulder, and look into her eyes. She could have kissed her, so close are their bodies, and so intimate as the moment, but instead, barely louder than a whisper, Bobbi promises: 

“Trust me, Daisy Johnson. I will not let you down.”


	9. MackElena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted by two people on Tumblr (@theclaravoyant) for post-Framework MackElena/YoyoMack comfort/fluff. Enjoy!

“Looking forward to sleep?” Mack quipped. Even after such a heavy day, he felt a little like smiling as Elena, who was usually a challenge to keep up with, all but staggered into the bedroom ahead of him, exhausted.

“Looking forward to being warm,” she replied, flopping down onto the bed with a lack of dignity that was uncharacteristic of her. “We had to turn off the heater while we were hanging in the air and it was _cabronamente frío.”_

“Well, I feel like I’ve been awake for forty years, so I think I’ll join you.” 

Mack sighed loudly, as if he could clear the pain from his soul as he got into bed. 

Nearby, on top of the covers, Elena frowned up at the roof as if scolding herself that she should have thought of that – of course it would be warmer underneath – but now she was stuck contemplating whether or not to disturb the pocket of air that her body had been working on warming. More than that, though, she wondered if following Mack now would seem like she was pursuing something, pushing at their intimacy when she knew he needed space to deal with what had happened on his own. Would he appreciate the comfort, or would he feel crowded? The deliberation was immobilizing.

Meanwhile, Mack found that the warmth of the covers over him was a shallow comfort. He’d been expecting something to finally feel _more real_ than the Framework, but no such luck, and now the terror and the pain of his last few moments in there clutched at his heart once again. He found himself choked up, and lost, in need of an anchor. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and brushed Elena’s hair and shoulder. He couldn’t reach her hand, but when he touched her, she looked over and up at him. 

“Come to bed?” he asked, his voice soft and fragile in the warm night air. Elena nodded, and in a flash the covers were flying above their heads and then she was lying right where she had been before, but facing him now, as the covers dropped back onto both of them. Mack turned to face her too, and took her hands in the space between them. It still didn’t feel quite right, not quite enough to chase away what should have been a dream but wasn’t – but at least those hands felt real. The same hands that had taken his right at the very end of another life. Hands that had waited for him, held him, pulled him to safety. He kissed them gently. 

“Mack…” Elena started, and he looked up and met her eyes, swimming with love and sorrow and tenderness.

“Thank you,” he said. “For bringing me back. And you’re right, I am going to miss Hope, but I do have a life here, and I love my life here. I thought I remembered it in the Framework, I though I knew what I was choosing between, but – Daisy? Fitz? You? – I didn’t have any of you guys in there, and I love you all so much. I really do. No matter what I said in there, you saved me. So thank you.” 

“Always, _mi corazón,”_ Elena whispered. She looked down at where their hands were joined, for a long moment of thought, and then back up again. The question was on her lips and she wondered if she should ask or not. _Did you just say you love me?_ Of course, she knew, on some level, but they had never put it in so many words, and now didn’t seem the time to chase after semantics. Instead, she just moved closer, so that their bodies were almost touching, and so that Mack could put an arm over her and hold her close. Warmth, both physical and emotional, coursed through her and she closed her eyes to soak it in.

“I love you,” he murmured, and that was the last thing Elena remembered as she finally drifted off to sleep.


	10. Daisy x OC (Male)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for a tumblr prompt
> 
> Daisy is training a new Inhuman who has the ability to harness the ability of animals, and he has a crush on her.  
> Fluff. Daisy x OC.

“Good work, Team,” Daisy praised. “Take a break – some of you are going to have a lot of work to do this afternoon.”

As they dissipated, the new recruits chatted and groaned amongst themselves at the thought of what was likely to be quite strenuous training under their new leaders. If Daisy Johnson was teasing them about hard work, it was going to be a real challenge; she was a forgiving and big-hearted leader, but also a demanding one. Fortunately, she was also one her team was eager to please. 

One in particular, seemed to work hard. Too hard. Hard enough to be showing off instead of putting in meaningful effort. Daisy swooped past the cooler and picked up a bottle of cider for each of them as she gestured for this recruit to meet her out on the balcony. He seemed to blush a little, like he’d been caught out, but the view gave him an excuse to look away. They were deep in a forest for this portion of their training – and though he couldn’t figure out what trees had to do with push-ups and half-marathons, he was grateful for the inspiration the animals brought him, for his own powers. 

“So… Fox?” Daisy wondered, looking him up and down. 

“That’s my name,” he said; it was a line, but it seemed like something to say in this situation. She was too close to him for comfort and he could feel the way her eyes roamed his body and he wondered – was he reading too much into this? It was not like she was ogling him; it had just been a quick glance. A glance that said: 

“You don’t look like a Fox, that’s all.” 

He hummed to himself. “I – ah, I get that a lot.” And grimaced. 

_For the love of God, say something intelligent._

“Were you named for your powers or before that?” Daisy wondered. “No judgement. Just looking for some insight.” 

Taking a deep breath, he pulled up the courage to look at her. 

“A bit of both, I guess,” he said. “I was a petty criminal, before. My powers helped me. Being able to fly, climb walls, run impossibly fast, and dodge… That stuff comes in handy, you know?” 

Daisy’s eyes narrowed. Out of intrigue or judgement he couldn’t really tell, but Fox was hoping for the former. He turned his body toward hers, matching her posture in a way that, he hoped, would draw her in. She could see his charms at work, of course – another tool useful for petty crime, and one she herself had cultivated – but to his pleasure, she responded nonetheless. 

“You said you _were_ a petty criminal,” she pointed out. “What do you consider yourself now?”

“Unemployed?” With a smile, he shrugged. She was so close to him now, and actually looking at him, talking to him, _interested_ in him. _The_ Daisy Johnson. His smile broadened. “I guess I’m hoping to become a full-time hero.”

Daisy snorted, a laugh, and her lips quirked up into a smile. 

“Those two things are less mutually exclusive than you think,” she said. “In fact, I’ve committed a few major felonies in my time.” 

“Sometimes you’ve got to break a few eggs, I guess.” Fox shrugged again. “Or should I say…. _Quake_ a few eggs.” 

“No, you should not say that,” Daisy scolded, but she was smiling as she shook her head. “I’m clearly going to have to up my pun game, Mr Fox. But I’d ask that you do the same with my class. Whatever _this_ is, if it’s a distraction, it’s going to stop. And yes, that was a threat. But… not one without a promise.” 

Fox clenched a fist at his side, determined not to pump it in victory at the thought that maybe there was something between them after all.  
  
“Yes, Agent Johnson, I apologise for any disrespect,” he said. Daisy nodded her acceptance, and handed him his bottle of cider. She clinked it with her own in goodwill, and nodded at the sparrow that flitted past them and back between the trees. 

“So you can do that, huh?” she wondered. 

“It’s nothing special,” Fox brushed off. “You can too, can’t you?”

“Not exactly…” Daisy hummed cryptically. “I can only jump, not fly, although I can hover and manipulate my direction a fair bit. You’re the real deal, or so I’ve heard. How does it work? Do you have to flap your arms really fast or something?” 

Fox took a swig of his cider and put it down on the flat of the railing, climbing up after it – and puffing out his chest a little; after all, this wasn’t class, so he was not obliged to take it seriously. He looked down and saw with a thrill that he most definitely had Daisy’s interest.

“I can show you, if you like,” he said. 

And he did.


	11. TripDaisy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Daisy gets drunk and tries to come out to her partner as genderflux/genderfluid".
> 
> Light T. Mostly fluff, but some angst (resolved) & hurt/comfort.

The small club buzzed with life as Daisy Johnson sat at the bar, casually nursing a lemonade as she looked around for someone she was expecting. She beamed when, at last, she saw Trip enter at the other end of the room. As he passed the tables and the dance floor, looking for her, the strobing pink and green lights shone richly on his dark skin, and on his white teeth that shone across the room at her when he beamed back. He opened his arms as he got close, and Daisy slid off her seat, waving for their first round of drinks before embracing him with a kiss. 

“Congratulations!” she called, over the music. “You did a great job today! So glad to see you’re finally getting some recognition!” 

“You know what they say though,” Trip said, brushing her off, although his humble smile glowed. “Behind every great man is a woman –“ 

“Shoving him full of congratulatory drinks?” Daisy suggested, holding up one shot for herself, and one for him. “The first one’s the good stuff. It gets more budget after that ‘cause I’m not made of money, but cheers!” 

Trip laughed. “Cheers!” 

They tapped their glasses together and threw the shots back, and then Daisy pointed a finger at the jukebox. Someone she’d paid earlier dropped a selection, and the iconic 80s drumbeats filled the bar. 

“Ooh!” Trip called. “This is my jam!” 

Daisy laughed. She’d never met a man with more jams than Trip, and the enthusiasm with which he beckoned her out onto the dancefloor was enough to draw the attention of half the bar. With eyes on them, Trip leaned into it, pretending to throw a lasso around her and pull her toward him before both of them launched into a semi-co-ordinated dance. Whether it was nostalgia or infectious enthusiasm, Daisy was pleased to find that the rest of the crowd got in on the action with ease. Dancing, singing, and eventually, karaoke, made for an even better night than Daisy had planned, and by the time she and Trip had retired to one of the booths – both tipsy, sweaty, and breathing hard – she was riding a high of sugar, alcohol, and endorphins.

“Love you,” she murmured, cuddling into his chest even though they had the whole booth to themselves. “’m proud of you. You know that? You are bad. _Ass._ ”

“Well, thank you, I am,” Trip agreed, turning his glass between his fingers with pride and a little drunkenness swelling his chest. “That’s why we make a perfect pair.” 

“Shux.” Daisy grinned a slow, lazy grin, and lay her chin on her hands on the table. She was drunk enough to feel warm, and Trip’s hand was strolling over her back, and if she sunk any further into relaxation, she reckoned, she’d soon start purring like a cat. The sugar high was wearing off, for now. Either that, or she was ascending a level of drunkenness. Probably both, as the still-dancing crowd seemed to blur in time and colour before her eyes. “Geez, how are those guys still going?” 

Trip laughed. “When did you turn into such an old granny?” 

“The body is willing,” Daisy explained. “The 5am starts are not.” 

“Oh, shit, May’s gonna freak –“ Trip very nearly giggled, and Daisy giggled too, her nose crinkling as she did. 

“Nah, I got tomorrow off. Gotta treat my man to a proper congratulations!” She slapped his chest – slowly, drunkenly, fluidly and inaccurately – in praise. Then fell into it, and settled there, her face a little mashed into his chest, where she whispered: “Damn, you’re ripped.” 

“Oh, you like that?” Trip raised one of his arms, showing off his guns to Daisy, who poked it with a finger.

“You have really nice muscles,” she said. “And a nice face. And a nice ass.” 

“Damn right,” Trip agreed. “And I think this ass wants to get us some water, hm?” 

“Hate to watch you walk away,” Daisy agreed, mashing the saying into one. Trip headed back to the bar, dancing so that his hips gyrated exaggeratedly, and Daisy, true to her word, watched. By the time he had fetched the jug of water and returned though, the alcohol and the sugar crash and the warped way that time worked when she was drunk - and that time being spent alone – was bringing Daisy down, fast. The smile had faded from her face and she stared at the blue liquid that was her cocktail, as if she could see straight through it to something that still, somehow, meant nothing. Trip swapped the cocktail out for a glass of water and Daisy looked up at him: part of her still distant, but part of her surprised. Maybe even surprised that he’d come back. 

“Do you think I’m a freak?” she asked. 

“Nah, man,” Trip insisted. “I mean, only in the good ways.” 

Daisy snorted derisively, and took a swig of the water, and pulled a face. She’d been looking forward to restoring the sugar high, but she knew water was better for now. 

“They’re all bad ways,” she said. “I never fit.” 

“Hey, the way things are going, if everyone fit, the world would be a way worse place,” Trip pointed out. “And besides – you fit with some people. The important people. You fit with me, right?” 

Daisy sighed. 

“I don’t know.” 

Trip frowned. He shifted his seat, moving back to Daisy’s side and pulling her into his arms. 

“Hey, now, where’s this coming from?” he crooned. “You and me are good, girl. Don’t get down on yourself about that. There’s plenty else in the world to worry about, but not that.” 

Daisy shook her head. 

“Can I tell you something?” she asked. 

“Always.” 

“Sometimes… I don’t always feel like girl. Which is crazy because like, I don’t even know what feeling like a girl is supposed to feel like – like that’s crazy, right, how is that a thing – but like… I feel like I just _know_ sometimes. I’m wrong.”

“No,” Trip assured her. “You’re not wrong, Daisy. You’re here. Your existence... is what it is, but it's not wrong. You matter, no matter what. Hey. How long have you been feeling like this?”  
  
Daisy shrugged. 

“I dunno. My whole life, I guess. I thought it would go away when I found out all the Inhuman stuff but it never really did. It’s just what I am. Just another freaky layer to the freak onion that is my life.” 

Trip squeezed her in a hug, kissed her hair and whispered in her ear: “I love the freak onion. Don’t you forget it. And you know, you’re not alone. There’s words for people like you.” 

“Yeah, -“ 

“ _Nice_ words,” Trip interrupted, before she could start on a list. 

Daisy pouted. “If you start spouting some cheesy shit like ‘hero’ or something I’m getting a cab.” 

“You are a hero, whether you like it or not,” Trip pointed out, “but that’s not what I meant. I mean, there’s a whole bunch of people out there who don’t feel like they’re what they were born as -” 

“I’m not-“ Daisy started, but Trip didn’t let her cut him off. 

“- and some of those people only feel it some of the time. Like, there’s this thing called ‘genderfluid.’ I don’t remember much about it, it came up in Group once, but it’s pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it? Must be where your gender, is like… fluid.” 

Daisy took a long drink of water. Trip took this as a reminder, and poured himself one too. And they started again. 

“Gender…fluid…” Daisy murmured, pulling out her phone and googling the term. She squinted at some of the articles through her drunkenness. “That’s cool. Lots of gender binary bullshit though. You sure it’s really a thing?” 

“Yeah. If you read what people actually talk about, people who experience it, a lot of it sounds like what you said just now. I mean, maybe consider again it when it’s not 2am and we’re not pretty heavily inn—in—well, drunk.” He laughed at himself. “But I’m pretty sure it’s a thing.” 

“And – and I mean if it is,” Daisy put forward. “You don’t mind?” 

“Look, I’ve revealed a lot of things I’ve regretted at 2am DNMs,” Trip said, “so if you wake up tomorrow and want to forget this whole thing, that’s fine. But if you follow the trail and it means something, I’m here for you. Names, pronouns, the whole shtick if you want.” 

“Thanks, but I mean for _you,”_ Daisy pressed. “For _us._ I mean, if I’m not a girl all the time – that sort of means you’re… not straight all the time.”

Trip shrugged. 

“I’m easy, girl. Man. Whichever.” He grinned. “And if it turns out I swing more ways than I thought I did yesterday then that’s fine with me.”

He leaned back against the seat, smooth as a player, with a falsely self-aggrandising grin that, gradually, coaxed a smile out of Daisy at last. Then, more sincerely, he reached for her hand and looked into her eyes.

“Look, Daisy, you’ve always been special,” he said. “You’re an orphan with a family. You’re a human alien. You’re a hero, but you’re also an oxymoron, and that doesn’t mean you’re a freak. Not in a bad way. It just means you were never going to fit in someone’s neat little boxes, and that’s okay. ‘Specially since, you know, _ticking_ boxes - you’re doing that left right and centre, as far as I’m concerned.” 

Daisy groaned silently, but she was still smiling. 

“I tick your boxes? That’s what you’re going with?”

Trip nodded, a sparkle of mischief back in his eyes as he became satisfied that the worst of Daisy’s drunken despair had passed. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’ll be here all week.” 

Daisy rolled her eyes.

“Shut up and drink your water, babe,” she said, and she drank too.


	12. Daisy x Lincoln x Alisha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daisy and Lincoln have been dating for a while and bi!Daisy wants to bring Alisha into their relationship

“Is everyone here so lonely?” Daisy asked. 

Lincoln snorted. “You’re lonely?” 

“No.” Daisy grinned at him for a moment, knowing he was teasing, but then she gestured around the room. Lincoln followed the sweep of her arm, really observing for once. It was quiet, but that was normal. People’s friends came and went in this place, and they were suspicious of newcomers like Daisy, and maybe he was just a little too used to the halfway-house lifestyle but he could just barely see what she meant. Pizza and popcorn night was the liveliest things got around here these days. 

“What do you propose we do about it, hm?” Lincoln suggested. “Start a choir? Maybe a soccer team? We could play other hidden alien races around the world?”

Daisy shook her head, and Lincoln smiled fondly.

“This isn’t people’s lives, Daisy. We all live somewhere else. We have lives and families somewhere else.” He paused for a moment. “Most of us, anyway.” 

“Here here,” Daisy sighed, and tapped his glass with her own. They drank, and Daisy’s eyes trailed around the room. Most of them were still avoiding her gaze; uncertain of her presence; uncertain of how she’d climbed up to be the queen’s daughter and the paramour of one of the most trusted. 

One of them, though. 

One stared at her with dark, intense eyes. She had sharp features, and fiery orange hair. She smiled a little. 

Daisy leaned over to Lincoln, keeping her eyes on the woman. She looked familiar. 

“Can she hear us?” Daisy asked, in a whisper. 

“Maybe.” Lincoln shrugged. “But it’s not her power. She can self-duplicate. Alisha. You’ve met her, remember?”

Daisy raised her glass, a small _cheers_ to the woman across the room. Alisha raised hers back, and turned her wrist, showing an empty glass with nothing but ice-cubes inside it. Daisy smiled, matching Alisha’s little smirk, and Lincoln glanced between them. 

“Why don’t we start by buying her a drink?”  
  
“Excuse me?” Lincoln wondered, still feeling out of the loop. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but haven’t played soccer since I was twelve,” Daisy pointed out, “and I can’t sing worth a dime. But I want to buy Alisha a drink. That’s what I want to do about the loneliness. ‘Be the change’ and all that, right?” 

“No, but did you mean buy her a drink, or like, _buy_ her a _drink?”_

“Well,” she mused, “I guess that depends on you, now doesn't it?”


	13. Mockingnerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some semi-cathartic angst/hurt/comfort for the activists out there (including myself) bc #mood & #lifegoals and also for the prompt:
> 
> Simmorse + "I got you"

It was something about how Jemma got home. The way she walked, with a stroppier, irritated step. The way her shoulders hunched. The expression on her face, and the sound she made as she dropped into a kitchen chair; part sob, part groan, part whimper. She buried her face in her hands, trying to scrub away the irritation and disappointment, but the failures of the day seemed to be stuck under her skin, from the baseless anti-Inhuman accusations of murder to forgetting how to pronounce a fellow activist’s name. All of it seeped into her bones.

“Bad day?”

Bobbi frowned in sympathy, and stepped in beside Jemma, sliding a warm mug of chamomile tea across the table for her. At the smell, Jemma dropped her hands from her face. She wasn’t sure that she felt like tea right now. Not sure she deserved it; not sure she wanted it; not sure that it would be enough to cleanse her of this awful day. Nevertheless, her hands gravitated toward it. It had been made with love, that much was obvious – even if the massage said love was now giving her was satisfying a much more immediate need.

“D’you want to talk about it?” Bobbi asked, massaging Jemma’s shoulders smoothly but with a little force. Jemma stretched, leaning into her fingers, and shook her head.

“Same old,” she summarised. “People are asses and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You can,” Bobbi promised. “You have. All these interviews, posters, and the _research?_ Dozens of pro-Inhuman organisations rely on that. How many hours of your life have you spent on it?”

Jemma snorted. “Not as much as Inhumans do! People are calling for their blood, Bobbi.”

“And many people are also stepping up to protect them,” Bobbi reminded her. “Everyone at Shield included. We’re not going to let them win.”

“I know,” Jemma confessed, and hung her head, the struggle raw in her mind. “It’s just a tough fight.”

“We’ll stick it out together,” Bobbi said. “Where there’s hate there’s love. You’re doing all you can to prove that.”

“Am I?”

“Look. Jemma.”

Bobbi turned the entire chair around, with Jemma on it, and another day that would have stirred something in her but in this moment, it was only the shock, of the air and the movement, forcing Jemma to look up. Into Bobbi’s eyes.

“I respect that you want to take on every fight until you collapse. I feel it too. Hell, Daisy feels it, I’m surprised she hasn’t lost her mind yet. But you need to remember that you are not the only person in this corner – and even if you were, you need to look after yourself! For the Inhumans’ sake, and for your own. And for mine. It’s better for everyone if you keep your head screwed on, okay?”

“… Okay.” Jemma agreed. She knew, even though it did not feel like it right now, that this was the best way. In fact, the only way. Bobbi pursed her lips.

“You deserve a break,” she insisted, for reinforcement. “Say it.”

“I deserve a break,” Jemma agreed, knowing that was what Bobbi had intended. Her bad mood seemed intent to hang in the air, but Bobbi’s massage had not been for nothing. Maybe she’d be able to sleep it off after all; as far as she was concerned, this disaster of a day couldn’t end soon enough.

“What are you feeling?” Bobbi asked.

“An early bedtime?” Jemma suggested.

“Sleep, cuddles, or something else?” Bobbi offered.

Jemma shrugged. Bobbi pouted, and lifted one of Jemma’s forlorn hands from her lap, and kissed her knuckles, and hauled her out of her seat.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bobbi promised. “I got you.”

After a long day of work and meetings and decision-making and interviews and demand after demand, those were the magic words. Jemma’s tense shoulders finally loosened and she let herself stumble forward under Bobbi’s guidance. She was pulled to the bedroom, where she was cushioned with love and finally, blissfully, invited to relax.


	14. MorseCode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Daisy goes to see Bobbi after the S2 finale.  
> Angst/Hurt/Comfort. Minor non-graphic references to injury/medical.

Even the flowers seemed to get sadder as Daisy slipped into Bobbi’s temporary room in the med bay. The stark fluorescent lights and smell of disinfectant were not unusual aesthetics for Bobbi, but it was different, tainted, now that she was on the other side of it. Pale skin and tubes and bandages bound Bobbi in uncharacteristic stillness. She had a drip in her hand and another in her elbow. A corset of bandages around her chest, under the hospital gown and blankets. Pins in her leg, holding fragments of her bones together as best they could.

Daisy shook a little, as she lowered herself into the chair that had been made available at Bobbi’s bedside. It was not an unnatural shake, but the boneless tremor of seeing the once fierce and bright Bobbi Morse laid out like this. The flowers in Daisy’s hands seemed to shrink at the sight, as if Bobbi’s drugged lifelessness was contagious. Daisy bit her lip. She felt strangely like crying. All the things she’d thought she’d feel suddenly came together in one heartwrenching lump of pain that seemed to choke her throat and her lungs. Unexpectedly, she didn’t feel the rage – not until she thought about it, and then it swelled up so suddenly and violently it was as if she were about to vomit. She thought of Ward, and all that he had taken from her, and she had to rest her arms on Bobbi’s bedside and lean forward and bury her face to pull herself together. 

Eventually - and slowly, her whole body feeling weak at the sight, and the shock, and the seemingly endless day – Daisy lifted herself limb by limb from the chair and reached over to put the flowers she had brought on Bobbi’s bedside table. They were lavender and rosemary, all aromatherapeutic, and if nothing else they did wonders for the government-issue-disinfectant smell. Daisy sat back to admire them, and pursed her lips. Perhaps she should have added more colour? Bobbi was such a bright personality usually, and now everything felt so… drained.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy whispered. Sorry about the wrong flowers. Sorry that Bobbi was in pain. Sorry that she hadn’t killed Ward when she’d had the chance, a thousand times before. Sorry came easy to her. It was then that she discovered the tears came easily too; blinding her before she could think what else to say. Think positive, she imagined Bobbi would say, and she smiled as she wiped the tears away. 

“So, uh…” she began again. “Just for the record – I think what you did was totally badass. Totally – freakin’ scary, I mean, _please_ don’t do that again – but…”

“No, go back to the first thing.” 

Daisy jumped. Her eyes snapped up to Bobbi’s face, whose eyes were open a crack and who was smiling weakly down at Daisy. 

“I’ve got a one liner to enter with,” Bobbi explained, though her voice was gravelly. “Well, I did have. I’ve forgotten it now.” 

Daisy rolled her eyes, and wiped them again since her body hadn’t got the memo to finish crying.

“You’re awake?” 

“’M pretty out of it,” Bobbi explained. “I’ll prob’ly drift off again soon. But it’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too,” Daisy agreed. Gently, and careful not to disturb the drip cords, Daisy took Bobbi’s hand. Bobbi squeezed back, and hissed through her teeth. 

“How’s Hunter?” she asked.

“He’s okay,” Daisy explained. “I mean he got your blood on his um… face, so that messed him up a bit, but he’s cleaning up. Not hurt or anything. He’ll probably be in later.” 

Bobbi nodded. Her head, her eyes, her whole body felt heavy.

“Everyone else okay?” 

“Yeah. All good.” 

Bobbi nodded fervently, the news feeling like cool water on her skin. Or maybe that was just the medication. This was good stuff. 

“Can I get you anything?” Daisy offered. 

“No, I’ll upchuck it on this stuff,” Bobbi objected. “’sides, all my hands and taste and everything are messed up. More trouble than it’s worth.” 

She tried to shake her head, and didn’t quite manage it. Daisy frowned. 

“You sure?” she checked. “Not even water?” 

Bobbi hummed to herself. “Maybe some ice chips?”

“I got you.”

Daisy stood up, and found her limbs were not so shaky this time, and her stomach not so twisted and churned. She spooned some of the chips into Bobbi’s mouth, and waited, and offered more, and it was a slow and undignified process. Bobbi’s fists clenched until it was over, and Daisy sat down again, with a little frown. She recognised Bobbi’s expression, from Fitz if nobody else: the indignation and frustration of being able to help yourself. 

“Thanks,” Bobbi said. It was a little stiff, but Daisy knew she meant it.

“No problem,” Daisy said. “Anytime.” 

Bobbi nodded. There was going to be a lot of this in the coming weeks, and she knew she would not be able to sleep it off entirely. For now though… the soft embrace of medication-induced darkness was calling her, and she could no longer find the words or the energy to tell Daisy that it was coming. 

Daisy smiled tightly, and nodded nonetheless. 

“It’s okay. Rest. I’ll be here.” 

They had a tough fight behind them, and another one ahead, but even so, Daisy smiled as she watched Bobbi’s sleeping body start to relax. It wasn’t long before Daisy, too – feeling her own strains, as well as Bobbi’s – curled up and fell asleep right there in the chair, waiting.


	15. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: AU where Bobbi and Daisy are foster sisters, and Daisy isn't happy to walk in on Bobbi making out with her best friend.
> 
> Rshps: brotp Skimmons, ship Simmorse. Rated T.

It was like a dream. It was like a movie. It felt like she’d stepped into Grease or something, and she was sweet innocent Sandra Dee, and Bobbi was the aloof but attractive Danny in this equation. Well… they had met at a beach in summer, but Bobbi was hardly a greaser. She certainly didn’t smoke. But she was a cheerleader. An incredibly smart, kind, and popular cheerleader. Basically Jemma’s life goals.

Or wife goals, as it turned out. 

And the movies, and the stories, and even the dreams didn’t usually mention that another _girl_ could make one feel like this, but Jemma could work with it. The thrill, the delight, the confusing wash of hormones. The kiss. It was such a mess of lips, but she was doing alright, if she did say so herself. She hadn’t even had time to be nervous about Bobbi’s experience in the area. Bobbi had kissed her too fast for that.

Bobbi tried not to smile too much into the kiss. Jemma was holding her own, to be fair, but she wasn’t very good at it yet. She was trying, though, and Bobbi wasn’t about to make it any more difficult for her – it was just so darn adorable. Either that, or it was a distraction tactic, as Jemma’s hand crept up toward second base. At that, Bobbi did smile, and used her tongue to guide Jemma’s as she reached for Jemma’s hand, and pressed it into the material of her shirt, over the shape of her breast. 

Blushing, Jemma let herself be guided – 

Only to jump back all of a sudden, almost biting Bobbi’s lip, when something made a loud _thud_ in the doorway.

“What. The _Hell?”_ Daisy demanded. Her face was torn with rage, her eyes already filling with tears. “What are you doing?! Bobbi! With Jemma! _Jemma?!”_

Bobbi pouted apologetically. Jemma was tempted to smooth out the wrinkle in Bobbi’s shirt at the place she’d touched, but thought the better of it, as even though Daisy’s anger was directed at Bobbi, she still felt her cheeks burn with shame. 

“I’m sorry –“ 

“Daisy, I-“ 

“We meant to tell you –“ 

“- thought you’d be at Coding Club.” 

“Coding Club’s _cancelled_ today _,”_ Daisy replied petulantly, and picked up her bag and stomped away, muttering something about the teacher’s dog as she stormed out of the room. Bobbi and Jemma looked at each other. 

“It’s my fault,” Bobbi started.

“No, I was the one who didn’t tell her.”

“About what? That we had milkshakes once?” 

“I…” Jemma trailed off, unsure how to phrase it. Unsure where they stood, let alone how to explain it to a heartbroken Daisy. She hadn’t expected it would hit this hard. Why should it? “I mean, she’ll get over it, right? Her sister and her best friend. She loves us. She wants us to be happy. Right?” 

“Mm.” Bobbi didn’t sound so sure. “You came over to see her. This – this was…” 

“Don’t say it was a mistake.” 

“No,” Bobbi agreed. “I just mean we shouldn’t have gone about it this way.” 

“No shit.” 

If Bobbi was surprised at Jemma’s choice of words, she didn’t show it. Instead, they spent a moment in long, bitter silence – while in the other room, Daisy flung her belongings about, huffing and shrieking wordlessly to herself in frustration. When that died down, they waited a moment longer, and then Bobbi lifted her head. 

“I should talk to her.” 

“No, I think I should. Then I can leave you to it. I can’t just go.” 

Reluctantly, Bobbi conceded, nodding toward the door. Jemma took a deep breath and let herself out into the hallway. Her chest felt tight, still shocked at the whirlwind of emotions she was feeling. Was this guilt? If so, why? She knew, rationally, that she had not done anything wrong. It’s not like they were cheating, or lying, or anything. But Daisy was hurt, and that hurt.

Gathering her strength, Jemma knocked on Daisy’s door. 

“Go away,” Daisy demanded, in a muffled voice that made it sound like she’d buried her face in her pillow or her arms or bedcovers. Maybe she was crying. Still, Jemma felt compelled not to leave. Taking a risk – in for a penny, in for a pound after all – she pushed the door open a crack. 

Daisy looked up from the bed, and wiped her eyes. 

“What do you want?” she muttered, but sat up, and didn’t object to coming in.

“To… apologise, I guess?” Jemma offered. Daisy snorted. 

“Convincing.” 

“I just… if I’m honest, I don’t understand what I did wrong. I didn’t mean for that to happen, Daisy. We weren’t trying to get under your skin. And we’ve barely even hung out before, I promise. I would have told you if we were a thing. Maybe I would’ve even asked. It just, it all happened so fast- ”

“It happened so fast?” Daisy retorted. “Do you hear yourself? Jemma, you don’t – you can’t – you can’t just _do_ that with someone –“

She was tearing a tissue apart in her hands, and the bitterness in her face and her voice reminded Jemma of something. There was something about those feelings. Some sense of betrayal that neither she nor Bobbi had foreseen. Then again, Daisy was an orphan, with a fucked up backstory and a half, and when it came to attachments and relationships, her heart and mind didn’t always respond rationally. Neither did anyone’s, Jemma supposed, but at least she had an idea. 

“Daisy,” she began again, more gently. “Neither of us are cheating on you. We’re not leaving you. We love you.” 

“I- I know that,” Daisy choked. 

“That’s good,” Jemma agreed. “Can I sit down?” 

Daisy gestured to a place beside her on the bed. She hung her head, ashamed by her own overreaction, but unable to stop feeling it entirely. 

“She’s my sister,” she muttered, because that explained it to her. But not to the rest of the world. Little by little, she found the feeling, and eventually elaborated. “She’s my sister, and you’re my best friend. I guess maybe I – I haven’t had much to myself, I always had to share before I came here and I don’t want to share you. Maybe. Does that make me selfish?” 

“Maybe,” Jemma answered, as truthfully as she could. “You know I’m a person right? I’m not just your friend.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know. And I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was taking Bobbi away from you, or choosing her over you. In fact, I actually came over to see you. Bobbi reminded me you were at Coding, but invited me to stay anyway. We got to talking – and, well, other things, as you saw.” 

“Were you going to have sex?” 

“What?” Jemma frowned. “No! Ew. And I definitely would have told you before that, don’t you worry.” 

“What?!” Daisy yelped. “I don’t wanna know about _that!”_

She pulled her pillow around her head as if to drown out the thought, but she was smiling, and laughing a little, and so Jemma did too. 

“Seriously though,” Jemma continued. “Are you okay with this? Because I know it can be weird. Even normal people find it weird sometimes.” 

“It is a little weird,” Daisy agreed. “But… I guess I’m okay. You guys could be cute I guess. And you’re both huge nerds, so, props. I might need you to pull my head in a bit sometimes though, okay? I know I get irrational but I don’t always know when I’m doing it.” 

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Jemma agreed. “And I promise, we’ll spend plenty of time alone with you too. That’s not going to change just because we’re hanging out with each other too. Speaking of which, since the mall will be closed by now, how about we get dinner? Chinese?” 

Daisy narrowed her eyes. “Promise not to tell me any sex stuff? Like, ever?” 

“Cross my heart,” Jemma swore.

“Okay then, we have a deal.”  
  
“Oh, just a sec. Talk to Bobbi first, okay?” 

“Oh, yeah. That could be a while. Plus I’m still coming down. Maybe we should do tomorrow after school instead?” 

“Okay.” 

They nodded solemnly… and then Daisy cracked a smile. 

“Sure you don’t want Bobbi to drop you home?” 

Jemma snatched her pillow and shoved it back at her, and they both laughed.


	16. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jemma and Daisy get drunk and call Bobbi for a ride, and Jemma says something embarrassing.
> 
> Contains: Simmorse/Mockingnerd, brotp Skimmons, alcohol/drunkenness.

Daisy screwed up her nose, giggling madly. She tried to raise the Cruiser to her lips and found her arm uncooperative, but she was so busy laughing at Jemma that she didn’t mind. 

“Why are you Southern?” she demanded. “Why- why are you Southern?” 

“I’d’know m’ladyy… s’all southern from England, innit?” 

Daisy blew a raspberry with laughter. 

“What accent is that?!” she cried. “I don’t even know, man! Are you Cockney? Have you secretly been a chav this whole time? Are those the same thing, I don’t know? I don’t know.” 

Jemma puffed her chest as if she was proud of this, and spied the two bartenders chatting across the room. Thinking herself quite the sleuth for noticing this, she stage-whispered, obscenely loudly, to Daisy: 

“I think we’re slice – I mean cut off. I’ve got too many lime slices in me. Cut.” She hiccupped, and Daisy rolled her eyes.  
  
“You’re wasted,” she pointed out.

“You’re wasted,” Jemma retorted. 

“No but you’re like… White Girl Wasted.” 

“What are you then? Mixed Race Shit Faced?” 

“You can’t say ‘cut off’ but you can manage ‘shit faced’?” Daisy raised an eyebrow, and the two of them launched into the laughter of a pair of schoolgirls, with a lot more dips and slurs in it. “Damn, you’re right though. This place is starting to spin. We should call our ride before we forget we have one?” 

“Who’s dezi tonight?” 

Daisy smirked as she pulled up the number. “Bobbi.” 

“No!” Jemma cried. 

“Yes!” Daisy insisted. “It’s good though, you know? It’s good. You’d never talk to her in real life. Now you can open your _soul!_ Ask her out! Do itttttt.” 

Jemma protested, and Daisy egged her on, over the last of their drinks and during the call to Bobbi as she pulled up outside and as they staggered onto the street. By this point, Jemma’s protestations had become somewhat less coherent, even less protesting, and more… giggly. 

“Bobbi!!” she cried, as Bobbi came to meet them with a stern, if slightly amused, expression on her face. She ran up and pressed herself against Bobbi, and Bobbi pried her gently away. 

“Hey, boo, love ya but I don’t need these shoes to smell like watermelon ice tomorrow.” 

“Good call. She’s wasted, yo,” Daisy insisted. “White girl wasted! Woo!” 

Bobbi rolled her eyes, and shepherded the both of them toward the car. They clamoured over each other to tell her stories of their exciting night and shots and bets and a card game and how Jemma had insisted they not play strip poker and that’s when the power of alcohol brought it all spilling out. 

“Coz I said it’s not like, yknow, Bobbi, I said –“ Jemma explained. “I said, to really pull that kind of thing off, you know, you need good boobs.” 

“Like Bobbi,” Daisy clarified. 

“Like Bobbi, right,” Jemma agreed.

“I have nice boobs?” Bobbi asked, strangely intrigued by their story. 

“Sure!” Jemma agreed. “They’re so nice ‘n… symmetrical. And at eye level.” She chuckled lasciviously, and Daisy joined in. Bobbi smiled to herself, but kept her eyes on the road as the two girls in the back seat chatted and laughed and showered more compliments upon her, told a few more embarrassing stories, and eventually, were lulled to sleep by exhaustion and drunkenness. 

- 

(When Jemma woke up, there was aspirin and soda water on her bedside table and beside them, an unmarked card. Curious, she frowned through a pounding headache, and opened the card, to find a photograph of Bobbi, in workout gear, posing in front of her bedroom mirror. Jemma blushed furiously and glanced around, but there was nobody to see it, so she let her eyes drop back to the card, and searched for some explanation. 

_If you make it out of bed before 9 and want to talk for real, I’ll be making smoothies in Mess 3._

Jemma fell on her alarm clock and rolled out of bed as fast as she could manage.)


	17. Huntingbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Better Man" by Little Big Town  
> Set pre-canon. Rated T for language & themes. Angst (with a hopeful ending?)

Bobbi sighed, and let herself slump in the diner booth. Her hand grasped half-heartedly at the cup of hot, slightly stale coffee that had already been brought to her and damn it, it reminded her of Hunter’s scruff in the morning. Back at the beginning, she’d woken up to stubbled kisses and his lean body, eager against hers. These days more often than not she was up earlier than him, out for a run, and came back to arguments and half-cocked plans and… sometimes breakfast. Eggs, or fruit. Sometimes he’d pelt an apple at her. She always caught it. Then she’d find him waiting in the kitchen for her, as if it was normal, as if they could have made some sort of home there. 

She shook her head. Theirs was not a life of homemaking. They’d both given that up; her when she’d joined Ops, and him far earlier. At a time he didn’t like to talk about, in a history he liked to keep to himself. For all he jabbed at her about her secrets, he had more than a few of his own. Didn’t he know that she only wanted to understand?

Not that she knew what to do with that. She could barely understand herself, acknowledge her own trauma. But still, maybe she could have helped, if he’d let her. 

-

Hunter held the ring up before his eyes, looking it through it like it was just a toy; just a piece of glass. He should have seen this coming, Bobbi running off like that. How many times had it happened before? Her empty space on the bed beside him didn’t even feel that empty anymore. He was used to it. Used to the heart-ache. Used to the angry tears that stung his face. How could she be such a coward? A striking warrior, so afraid of her own heart. Afraid of commitment to anything other than The Cause. Afraid of him. 

He couldn’t kid himself that she was afraid of how much she loved him. It certainly didn’t feel that way when it was her who kept dropping his heart like a hot coal. Maybe, he thought, she was afraid of settling. Afraid of the way their love was hot and torrid turned stale and sour and always curdling again with stubbornness and pride. They never worked for it, just expected it to happen, and so they kept falling into the same pattern. Maybe she was right to break it off. But what could have happened if they’d reached for it instead? If they’d opened up their hearts and communicated and worked together? Hunter tried to imagine it: sitting on those ratty mismatched couches, looking into each other’s eyes, and saying:

“When you kill people for money, it makes me feel like you have no morals.” 

“When you kill people for the government, it makes me feel like you’re a heartless spineless bitch.” 

He snorted. 

Right.

Try coming back from that.

-

“Can I get you something, darl?” the waitress asked. Bobbi looked up, chagrined as she realised how obvious her forlorn state had become. Drinking in a diner in the middle of the night, twirling her wedding ring around on the table. 

“A better husband?” she joked. 

“Bad night or breakup?” the waitress asked. Bobbi shrugged. 

“Both, I guess.” 

“Want a phone?” 

“Oh. No. Just um – pancakes please.” 

“Okay, sweetheart. Look after yourself.” 

Bobbi nodded. She almost laughed, at all this woman did not know, but she felt chilled. Of course, she could physically protect herself, but in her heart she was lost. Rationally, she knew, Hunter wasn’t good for her. But he was a good man. A good soldier. With a good heart. And he understood her, sometimes. Just not enough of the time. 

She remembered when she’d busted her ribs on a mission once, and Hunter had catered to her every whim without complaint. Why couldn’t they have held onto some of that sweetness? Why did he have to let their hard world turn him harsh too? Couldn’t they both have been softer? 

- 

Hunter couldn’t quite bring himself to toss the ring across the room. He’d lose it forever in this pigsty anyway and somewhere deep inside he wasn’t quite ready for that. What he was ready for was breakfast, except that it was just barely past dark o’clock in the morning and there was nothing in the house. 

“Beer it is,” he whispered to himself, and cracked one open. Bobbi would have hated that.

But she would have loved the sunrise coming in through the window just now, catching his attention as he stood. Red-orange like the inside of a grapefruit, it dazed him. He remembered her. The parts of her he preferred to remember, like her shampoo smell and her at times endearing insecurity and the patterns on her naked skin and the languages rolling off her tongue and the way she’d grinned at him when he’d eaten his first horseradish. Disgusting stuff, but he did love her laugh. Why couldn’t they have held onto some of that softness? Why had she let their cruel world turn her cold? 

Then again, he supposed as he watched the sun, maybe they both could have been warmer.

- 

Regrets, of course, come by their very nature when it is too late to change them. Whatever they wished they might have been was in the past. Several times over, in fact. Yet each time, they did it, and each time, they regretted, and the cycle went on. There was something about holding those gold bands between their fingers though, and tasting the tang of that metal as the memory of the sand between their toes on their wedding day turned sour, that made them turn their thoughts in on themselves. Turn their regrets into promises, into inspiration. 

Hunter ate healthier. Drank less. Exercised. Found a crowd he trusted who made decisions he could live with. 

Bobbi picked up therapy. Learnt about her feelings. Saw the fall of Shield for what it was and started critically thinking about the path her life had been taking her down for so long. 

One day, unbeknownst to them, their paths would cross again and the little voice in their hearts would resume its whispering that maybe this time, they’d be better.

Maybe, one day, it’d be right.


	18. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jemma helps Bobbi with physical therapy.  
> Set in a magical S3 where Jemma was there. Hurt/comfort.

“Are you ready?” Jemma asked, a clinical but cheerful smile on her face as she looked down at Bobbi, who lay prone on a padded chiropractic bench. Bobbi consciously and labouriously unpeeled her arms from in front of her chest, digging her nails into the sides of the bench instead as she mentally prepared herself. 

“Yes,” she muttered. 

Jemma let her smile drop a little. She could see the burning humiliation, shame, and frustration behind Bobbi’s eyes: even tears started to glisten in them, as Jemma took too long to look away. There was a moment of intense vulnerability, where both acknowledged that they could see what Bobbi had been trying to hide for so long – 

And then it was over, almost, just the whisper of it hanging in the air as they both looked away, stepped back from the cliff’s edge, and took shelter behind the wall they could pretend still stood between them. 

“Have you been doing your exercises?” Jemma asked, as she focused her attention on Bobbi’s knee. She expected Bobbi to maybe laugh a little, and make some quip about how her girlfriend would never let her forget or shirk responsibility. But Bobbi stayed silent, so she tried again. 

“Can you touch your toes yet?” Jemma asked, lifting Bobbi’s knee and folding it in toward her chest. This one, she really didn’t know the answer to. Or how much it mattered, really. But Bobbi seemed unwilling to disclose either way. Then again, Jemma figured, this exercise probably hurt, so maybe she was just trying to keep the pain out of her voice. 

She waited until she was easing the pressure on this leg, to ask another question. 

“Have you been weight-bearing this week?” 

Again, Bobbi was silent for some time. Jemma took a deep breath, and bit her tongue a little. She’d always had a temptation to fill awkward silences but it was only poisoning the air now. It was better to let things sit. So sit they did, in silence that trembled and shrieked and hung over their heads like a guillotine, and that only truly fell silent when it came time for Bobbi to sit up and prepare to leave.

Jemma handed her a bottle of water and she hung her head. Jemma’s hand lingered by her knee, and though she knew there was no simple answer so fantastical as kissing it better, she wished for a shorter, less painful solution to Bobbi’s pain. And to the pain in her own heart, for what she felt like she was inflicting.

For a long moment they stood like that, until Jemma, with a soft shaking voice, suggested: 

“Perhaps I could find you another physician?” 

And Bobbi interrupted at last: 

“I’m just scared.” 

Jemma looked up, into Bobbi’s tearful eyes, and felt her breath catch as their imaginary wall disappeared once again. She laid her hands over where Bobbi’s were twisting anxiously at the bottle, and felt them still. 

“Scared of what?” 

Bobbi shook her head.

“Everything?” she guessed. “Scared of pain. Scared of walking. Scared I’m gonna get up out of this stupid chair and fall flat on my face. Scared of… losing my job.” 

Jemma frowned. “Bobbi…” 

“…I’m scared – “ Bobbi choked – “I guess I’m scared I’ll never get back to how I was. I mean, God, Jemma, I used to be able to do backflips across a room. I could kick a SEAL’s ass in stilettos. Now I can barely even point my toes.” 

“Well, you’ve only been walking for a few weeks,” Jemma pointed out, then thought back over it and rephrased. “What I mean is – recovery takes time. Be patient with yourself.”

Bobbi snorted. “Hello Pot, this is Kettle.” 

Jemma had to smile at that. They did make quite the pair. Nevertheless, she could not let Bobbi wallow – even if it was with a humourous edge – so as she went to fetch Bobbi’s crutches, her mind dredged ideas. Perhaps a proper massage in the comfort of their own bedroom, so that their physical intimacy was not relegated to the med bay only. Perhaps a movie night with Fitz, who might understand some of the frustrations Bobbi was experiencing. Perhaps – 

“Multiple stable state.” 

The words slipped out of her mouth before she realised why she had said them, but once she heard them, it started to make sense. 

“What?” Bobbi prompted.

“In biology – actually, in social science and psychology too; it’s in everything really – there’s this idea. Multiple stable state equilibrium. It means that with any given environment, there’s likely to be several different conditions that it might tend toward, rather than what we previously thought, which was that there was a right way and a wrong way to, well, be an ecosystem. The theory goes that, say, if there’s particularly high rainfall one year, or the introduction of a new species, an ecosystem might adapt to absorb that and develop a ‘new normal.’ It wouldn’t entirely become a new ecosystem, just a different version of the one before. A new stable state. That could be what you have to do. It’s what Fitz did. Ah, I can’t _believe_ I didn’t think of this earlier!” 

“Wait, are you saying _everything happens for a reason?”_ Bobbi screwed up her nose. 

“No!” Jemma assured her. “I’m just saying… I’m saying, sometimes we get shunted from our path in life – we get lost, or the path disappears, or what have you - and the path we find our way back to might not be the same one we left, but that doesn’t mean we stop going anywhere. Does that make sense?” 

Bobbi looked down at her knee, and flexed it, and winced. It didn’t seem like she was going anywhere any time soon. But Jemma wasn’t quite ready to give up. 

“Look at you,” she pointed out. “When you were a biochemist, you were happy with that right? And then something happened, and you diverted into Ops. Quite a different life, but a good one, right? And then Shield fell, and Hydra happened, and this whole mess, and we’ve still come out floating. I’m just saying that our lives aren’t always what we expect, that’s all. You are a smart and capable woman, knee or no knee, and I know you can bring good to the world no matter what. I’m sorry I can’t do anything to help you walk faster – and don’t look at me for backflip training, whatever you do – but I’m going to be here for you. No matter what your future holds. Okay?” 

This time when Jemma saw that Bobbi was crying, she did not hide away. Instead, she leaned up on her toes and kissed her briefly: a promise. When she came away, there were still tears on Bobbi’s face – but there was a smile, too.


	19. DaisyKara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daisy & Kara go hiking. G/T (lowkey references of past trauma).

Daisy shut the boot of the car with a satisfying slam, and drew a deep breath of the fresh forest air. Somehow, she’d come to believe that pine trees didn’t really have a smell; that it had been invented to sell cleaning products and air freshener, and those little things that dangled off people’s steering wheels. Now as she took her first breath of truly fresh air in – days, months, perhaps even years? – she knew why people had spent so long trying to capture its essence.

“Are you sure about this?” 

Kara was frowning up at the mountains, her backpack slumped in the gravel at her feet. Daisy frowned back. 

“What’s there not to be sure about?”

“Well, have you ever hiked? What if we get eaten by a bear? What if one of us falls down a ravine? I’m just being practical, that’s all.” 

“This is a popular National Park, babe, not the Amazon. We have a phone and a satellite phone and a first aid kit, I’m sure we’ll be fine.” 

Daisy rolled her eyes as good-naturedly as she could in the face of Kara’s fretting. While it was frustrating, especially after such a long trip, Daisy had to remind herself that Kara had good reason to worry. The same reason that woke Kara in the middle of the night or set her screaming when she trapped herself in the shower. Daisy had to remind herself that she knew some of the darkness behind Kara’s hesitation and that she sometimes let it run wild with her. In times like those, she needed Kara to hold her back. In times like these, she hoped, it was Kara who needed her to nudge her forward. Baby steps.

“Look,” Daisy offered. “We don’t _have_ to go on the trails if you really don’t want to. There’s a picnic area and a little café just down the entrance path here. Let’s just have lunch. K?”

Kara nodded, and swung the bag onto her back. Her fingers dug into the straps at first as if holding it in place would somehow make her feel steadier, but what really worked was when Daisy held out her hand and the new place didn’t feel so foreign anymore. Holding tightly, she followed Daisy down the path and every now and then, looked back to the car until her heart slowed down and she acclimatised. She remembered how it had felt to sing into the sunshine with Daisy on the winding paths that led up here. She’d come this far. She breathed in deep and started to notice the smell of the air and the calls of the birds, and why Daisy had brought her out here. 

“It feels…” she whispered, not sure quite what she was feeling, or how to put it into words. 

“I know,” Daisy agreed, smiling back as if the freedom of the forest was a secret only they knew. 

She dropped Kara’s hand as a Ranger approached, smiling warmly. 

“Can I help you ladies?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Daisy insisted, brushing him off instinctively. “We’re just looking for the café?” 

“Not yet!” Kara interrupted. “The walk first. I want to do it. Let’s go.”

The Ranger glanced between them. “Well, the café’s just on your twelve there, and the trails start over by that courtyard. If you’re not experienced hikers I’d recommend a squirrel. Stay away from the bear grade.” 

He gestured to a sign nearby, detailing squirrel, moose and bear as the levels of difficulty of the trails on this particular walk. Daisy felt the thrill of a challenge between her toes. 

“Sure thing,” she promised. 

Fortunately, Daisy was well trained in the art of not grinning as deviously as she felt she should in moments like those. Besides, she was not foolish enough to throw away the advice of an expert, especially not when Kara was at risk too, and already out of her comfort zone. Her wild - reckless? – heart pleaded with her to race straight up the bear trail. What would she find? More animals up there, since it was less used? Rock-climbing? Waterfalls? 

But she was not here today to skin her knees, so she gestured for Kara to lead the way down the more trodden squirrel path. It was warm, and a little muggier than she’d been expecting as they headed deeper into the tree cover. The occasional bug darted past her face. 

“Oh, hey, look!” Kara cried, and pointed after one of them: a dragonfly, that landed for a moment on a nearby tree. Daisy screwed up her nose a little; curious, and a little disgusted. Still, Kara stared at the dragonfly in awe and Daisy couldn’t bring herself to make a joke and break the moment. 

Of course, the dragonfly soon darted off again and both of them jumped, but Kara soon recovered a small smile. Daisy smiled back. 

“See?” she prodded. “It’s not so bad out here.” 

“Not bad at all,” Kara agreed. 

They continued on their trek with a lighter step now; looking around, eyes and hearts back to taking in the forest and the wildlife around them. They posed for photos against tree-trunks, found a hedgehog, jumped a stream, and the outside world slipped away and the past slipped away and the chains and the nightmares slipped away until they were two women and freedom. 

Laughing, Kara pulled Daisy to a stop on a rocky shore and drew her in for a kiss. A long one, as sparkling and warm as the sun on the river. The water babbled around them and a cormorant jumped a few feet away to continue its fishing in peace but they paid it no mind. Kara was breathless, and Daisy was as struck by the smile on her face and the ease in her fingers as she was by the sun on her luminous copper-brown skin. 

“Damn, we must look so good right now,” Daisy murmured, imagining a sweeping camera shot around them, or at the very least a killer Instagram filter; such was the warmth, the richness, the movie-magic perfection of this moment. Kara laughed, Daisy’s humour warming her heart. Always so patient, that one, although she didn’t think she was. 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Kara said, linking her fingers with Daisy’s as they walked on. They strolled along the riverbank hand in hand. 

“Any time,” Daisy promised. “Any time.”


	20. Skitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Daisy + wearing Fitz's clothes  
> a fluffy, domestic thing :P
> 
> Currently accepting prompts here or on tumblr (@theclaravoyant). I reserve the right to pass on a prompt but if so, you're welcome to submit another. In the meantime, enjoy!

Once Fitz had finished ransacking the bedroom, he checked the bathroom, then dove into the laundry basket, throwing clothes all about the place in a rush to find what he was looking for. Used to the slightly-hectic edge of this tiny apartment – housing a distractible genius and a comfort slob made for one hell of a pigsty – Daisy moved about him with ease, keeping out of his way with a casual air as she padded from place to place. Hers was a lazy morning, and she wasn’t about to waste it fretting when she didn’t need to. 

That is, until Fitz stuck his head out into the main living area with a confused frown. 

“Daisy?” he wondered. “Have you seen my shirt?” 

“Which one?” Daisy wondered, crossing her legs nonchalantly on the kitchen stool, sipping her coffee as she scanned the paper. 

“The white one, with the brown…” 

Fitz trailed off, the rest of his body following his head out of the hall as he took in what Daisy was wearing – which was not much. Her pyjama bottoms were a light cotton, with little icecream-cones on them, but otherwise barely avoided the label of ‘booty shorts.’ She had on a bra, as if she’d contemplated getting dressed and then decided against it. Over it all hung a very familiar shirt. A white one, with brown checks on it. Fitz scoffed. 

“Is that my shirt?” 

“This?” Daisy slid off the chair and showed it off. “Maybe.” 

A smile touched Fitz’s lips, but he hid it away, feigning grumpiness. 

“Give it here,” he demanded. 

“Make me.” 

“Daisy, please! I’m going to be late for my interview.” 

“Fine.” Daisy smirked back. “There’s another one hanging on the back of the door, you worry wart. Do some washing, damn.” 

“ _You_ do some washing,” Fitz sniped back, marching to the door of their apartment to pick up a deep turquoise-blue shirt Daisy must have left hanging there. 

“I did,” Daisy explained. “Stole that shirt last week.” 

Fitz paused, halfway up doing the buttons, and found he was quite chuffed by the thought. 

“You steal my shirts? Like... often?”  
  
Daisy shrugged. “’course. Otherwise I’d have to keep my own stuff clean, which is a nightmare. Plus I hardly own anything summery anymore. It’s all workout clothes. Wanted to mix it up.” 

“Uh huh.” Fitz nodded, barely containing his smirk this time as he finished his buttons and sauntered back into the main room, toward Daisy. “And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was at that conference last week and wearing my shirts was a way to stay close to me?”

“Gross. No.” Daisy screwed up her nose, but grinned behind her coffee cup when Fitz pulled her in by the hips. It was only at that moment, that Fitz realised the cup in her hand was different to the one she’d been reading with, and inside was tea, not coffee. She offered it to him. “Truce?” 

“Truce.” Fitz kissed her briefly, and dropped his hands from her hips in favour of taking the cup. He savoured the first warm swallow, glad to have a moment free from thinking about his busy day – then, a moment later, he remembered the interview, and cursed out loud. 

Daisy was already ushering him toward the door, briefcase in hand.

“Skull, man, skull!” she urged. “Don’t spill it, but skull!” 

“Tie?” 

“Don’t need one. Pop your collar. There you go.” 

Swapping his now mostly-empty mug for the briefcase, Daisy bit back a smile at the flustered expression on Fitz’s expertly groomed face, as he patted himself down to check that he’d remembered everything. 

“You on base tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah, once I can be assed getting dressed. Ugh, clothes.” Daisy rolled her eyes, and Fitz smirked. 

“You know,” he offered. “I keep my Celtics jersey in your second drawer.” 

“Down boy.” She pulled him in for one last kiss, fixed his collar and waved him off, calling after him - “You go wow some nerds. I’ll see you later. Good luck!” 

“Love you!” Fitz called back, then turned and ran downstairs for a cab with an indomitable smile still on his lips.


	21. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for MandyLucinda99 who prompted (paraphrased) "Mockingnerd + height difference and/or Bobbi saves Jemma" - I've combined both! It's fluff, set at Shield but the time period doesn't matter. Mockingnerd aka Simmorse, ft some brotp Skimmons. Enjoy!

Daisy came in from her morning workout to a strange sight: Jemma, intently focused on constructing a tower of chairs in the middle of the kitchen. She was taking chairs from the dining table, such as it was, and stacking them on top of each other, gaining precious inches with determination on her face, even as the tower began to totter. 

“Uh, Jemma, what are you doing?” Daisy wondered, frowning as Jemma climbed atop her contraption and put her life in its rickety hands, reaching up for a high cupboard and wobbling violently, right on the edges of her balance. 

“Bobbi and I got into a tiff this morning,” Jemma explained, grimacing against the strain, “and we were going to make macaroons, but obviously that's no longer happening, so I'm just moving the almond meal so she can't do it without me. Only, it's – a bit high up -“

With a sigh, Jemma jumped off her chair-pile before she could fall. To Daisy’s surprise it did not tumble after her, and in fact, Jemma marched straight back over to the table to fetch another chair. Daisy cringed as Jemma added it and checked, as best she could, for stability. 

“I’m meeting May,” Daisy explained. “Am I going to find you buried under this thing when I come back or what?” 

“Please.” Jemma rolled her eyes. “I’m a highly trained professional scientist, Daisy. I know what I’m doing.” 

She pressed the seat down to check its security, and climbed back onto the tower. Daisy shook her head, but she couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing in this circumstance. Fortunately, her hesitation about leaving Jemma along was soon resolved when somebody else approached the kitchen – and that somebody was Bobbi. Daisy snorted, as Bobbi frowned at the strange sight just as she herself had. 

“What’s that?” Bobbi wondered, jabbing a finger at it. 

“Your girlfriend’s got a deathwish,” Daisy explained, and took a sip from her water bottle as she took her leave to avoid getting roped into the lovers’ quarrel. 

Bobbi sidled up to the kitchen bench, took an orange and rolled it between her hands as she watched Jemma’s efforts, a slightly sadistic little smile on her face. Jemma, leaning up to the cupboard with somewhat more success this time, spotted her out of the corner of her eye, and scowled.

“What are you smiling at?” she jabbed. She felt around blindly in the cupboard, with sharp slapping movements. Her body tensed up. She wondered if she might find Bobbi’s protein powder up here. Would throwing it on the ground be too much? Perhaps. 

Bobbi’s smirk widened. “Looking for something?” 

“No,” Jemma returned, though the opposite was of course, obvious. Realising this, she slammed the cupboard door shut as if the four very out-of-place, quite deliberately stacked chairs beneath her didn’t speak to premeditation. 

“Are you sure?” Bobbi checked, “because I moved the almond meal this morning. It’s down here, behind the coffee.” 

She leant across the bench, and because she was so tall was able to reach obscenely far, past the fruit bowl and protein bar stand to the stack of drinks by the kettle. From the heap of various coffees, teas and sweeteners, she pulled a half-used bag of almond meal. She’d clearly hidden it intentionally, burying it behind other labels, but even so, Jemma felt foolish: she would have walked right past that bag this morning – several times in fact, on her way to and from her stash of chairs. Embarrassment and rage flushed through her and her blood boiled.

“Damn it, Bobbi!” she yelped, indignant. “Why can’t you just-“ 

Her rant was cut off when her foot slipped off the edge of the chair. Her heart leapt into her throat. She had regrets, lots of them, but she also had instincts to grab out at something and at this particular moment in time, that was the wrong move. All her petty anger disappeared and she shrieked, helpless to do anything but wait to hit the bench or the concrete-and-linoleum floor. 

Except she didn’t.

She hit Bobbi, who had dived into the kitchen with the intent to catch her and shepherd her away from the falling chairs. In the end it was less dignified than all that, but they landed on the other side in a tangle of limbs, their feud forgotten.

“Am I dead?” Jemma wondered, blinking up at Bobbi from her lap, dazed by shock. Bobbi looked down, swept a lock of hair from her face and laughed. 

“Whatever made you think that was going to work?” 

“Will power?” Jemma guessed, though in truth she hadn’t really _thought_ all that much about it, which was half the problem. Fortunately, this only made Bobbi smile. 

“I guess you could call it that,” she conceded, with a fond eye-roll that added silently: some might also call it _being a stubborn ass._

(Of course, she wouldn’t have it any other way.)


	22. MockingNerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Simmorse/Mockingnerd have trouble kissing because of the height difference"  
> Fluff! Simmorse/Mockingnerd otp with some Skimmons brotp thrown in bc why not :P Also, shoutout to The Good Place and ODAAT (and those who get the references!) Enjoy!

As she waited for the kettle to boil, Jemma absentmindedly stretched her stiff neck, and glanced over at the nest of readings she’d set up for herself at the dining table. Unusually for her, the thought of it made her heart sink a little. Bobbi was dancing around her this way and that preparing breakfast, and then she was off to the gym, and then on a field research outing with Hunter and Mack, and Jemma was stuck here. She felt like pouting, as what would usually be an interesting, jam-packed day of catching up on the operations of the various departments under her control, had since become as appealing as the English ocean on a cloudy day. She’d much rather spend her time mooning over her new girlfriend, but apparently, even the daily grind of saving the world required them to make other plans. 

Fortunately, she still had a few more precious moments with Bobbi left, to get her through the grueling absence. She treasured Bobbi’s smile, and fond little laugh. 

“Desk duty, huh?” Bobbi teased, pouting in exaggerated sympathy. She knew Jemma loved Directorate Day, deep down. “Would a blueberry help?”

“Maybe,” Jemma replied, luring Bobbi in to press the blueberry to her lips. She craned her neck up, as invitingly as possible. “A kiss would probably help more, though.” 

“Oh, well then – “ Bobbi gleefully obliged, pausing to bend down and press her lips to Jemma’s. “Can’t have the Director of Sciences off her game now, can we?” She threw in another kiss for good measure, finished blending her smoothie, and all but bounced back across the kitchen with it in hand. As much as she hated to leave Jemma before she absolutely had to, May was waiting, and her body was screaming at her to do something that, for the first time in a long time, was not desk duty of her own.

“Go!” Jemma insisted, waving her hand emphatically. She had that same fond smile on her own face, endeared by her girlfriend’s enthusiasm and joy, to be getting active again. Then, as Bobbi farewelled her and obliged, she added, calling after her - “Make sure you stretch! And balance your weight! And – Nope, she’s gone.” 

Still, this little moment gave Jemma the will to carry her tea over to the nest of paperwork, and sit down, and only sigh once. She licked absentmindedly at the taste of blueberry on her lips as she pulled the first report toward herself, and began to read. Moments later, the pain in her neck sharpened, and made her twist and turn in her seat, rub at the sore spot, flex her shoulders – again and again she tried it, and each time, only seemed to jostle her further from comfort. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” she whispered at last, and arched her back like a cat and rolled her head to try and get the knot out one and for all. 

Daisy, who had slipped into a seat nearby, grinned mischeviously. 

“Sleep funny?” she prodded. 

“Oh, ha, ha,” Jemma replied, rolling her eyes. Then a thought occurred to her, and her eyes must have lit up, because Daisy cringed and laughed. 

“Ew,” she said. “Do I want to know?”

“Don’t be gross, not like that,” Jemma scolded, though memories of some pleasant escapades of the sort Daisy was sneering at replayed themselves in the back of her mind. “It’s just kissing, the neck problem.” 

“Because your girlfriend is a sexy giraffe and you practically reach her bellybutton?” Daisy teased. “How long did it take you to figure that one out?” 

“It’s not usually a problem,” Jemma insisted. “I’d usually just, you know –“ 

She made a gesture with her hand and Daisy translated: 

“Climb her like a tree?” 

“Well, yes,” Jemma agreed, “or at least, she’d be able to bend down. But ever since this knee surgery, we’ve both had to be a lot more careful, so I spend half the day standing on my toes with my chin in the air and my neck does _not_ like that. Which is unfortunate, because the rest of me rather does.” 

She smiled, satisfied, and Daisy launched into a list of suggestions – some of them helpful, some ridiculous, and some of them just downright lewd – about what could be done. They bantered back and forth for a while, but when Daisy too had to leave, to continue with her day’s work, Jemma turned the conversation over slowly in her head. Maybe she could do something about this, maybe something special was called for to celebrate Bobbi’s recovery milestone, maybe she could hang from the roof like Spiderman – Fitz would be willing to make her some antigravity boots in the name of love, right? 

Unfortunately her concentration was soon needed elsewhere, as the reports and meetings and emergencies of Directorate Day flooded in over the course of the morning. By evening, she had almost forgotten about it, until she saw Bobbi stick her head in through the door. From the looks of her, she had just finished up her day of work – in fact, she was likely coming back from the showers, dressed as she was in soft, fresh cotton, and with a victorious smile on her face despite the blooming bruises. In that moment, all Jemma wanted to do was kiss her, but as soon as she tilted her head up, her neck and shoulder screamed with pain. 

“Bloody _hell!”_ she hissed, more fervently this time. Bobbi, perplexed, asked, “what?”, but Jemma’s mind had already seized on the solution. She’d spotted it out of the corner of her eye, when she’d cringed out of the kiss. It was simple, and inelegant, but it made her smile. 

She scampered across the communal area, to the lounge, and jumped up to stand on a cushion. Frantically, she gestured with her hands for Bobbi to come and, grinning right back, Bobbi did. Their kiss was hotter, easier, more evenly matched, and both of them came away from it flushed and happy. 

“Wow, where has this couch been all my life?” Bobbi jested. 

“Um, under my ass, I was hoping,” Daisy replied, pulling their attention. She was on her way back into the room with a bowl of pretzels in one hand and a beer in the other. Hunter and Fitz sat on the other couch, not quite sure where to look, but greatly enjoying the spectacle of it all. 

Jemma cleared her throat, and climbed down from the couch with a surprising amount of dignity; after all, she had no regrets. But that didn’t stop her heart from leaping into her chest when Bobbi gave her a hungry, smokey-eyed look and gently intertwined their fingers. 

“Do you want to stay and watch the movie, babe?” she offered innocently, “or would you like a little help massaging that shoulder of yours?” 

Daisy, Fitz and Hunter snickered. With no hope, and increasingly little intention, of keeping up the charade of dignity, Jemma simply nodded and let Bobbi lead the way.


	23. Skitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Daisy starts feeling romantic feelings for Fitz after the train and she’s hurt that he’s defending Ward.   
> Skitz, with discussions of Ward/Hydra. Set late S1 because I love writing things set in that motel for some reason.  
> Rated T. cw: Nazism mention.

Skye came out of the shower feeling at least a little less miserable than she had when she’d gone in. The tears and rage and fear and the feeling of Ward’s hands, his breath, on her, had finally washed away, and she was used to not having fresh clothes to change into. It was not the worst thing in the world.

“You want a turn?” she offered. “There’s only two towels, so get in quick.”

Fitz gave a noncommittal grunt. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to take a shower even if he wanted one; it was starting to feel like he’d been sitting here on the bed hugging his knees, staring into space, for all time and he’d be stuck here forever. Like the idea that his legs had ever moved was a figment of his imagination. The whole world outside himself, outside the circle of his arms, felt like a nightmare – except for her. 

Skye sat down on the bed opposite him, wringing her hair with one of the two precious towels. Her skin was red and raw from the heat of the water. 

“Are you okay?” Fitz asked. 

“Are any of us?” Skye returned. 

“Then, are… are you mad at me or something?” Fitz swallowed, tasting bitterness, trying not to reflect on what he’d heard. Skye frowned. Fitz gestured back toward the bathroom. “The walls are kinda thin, that’s all. You were, um. Talking to yourself. You sounded upset.” 

Skye snorted and shook her head. He was putting it lightly, stepping on eggshells, and while she couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said she was quite sure it had been loud and raw and vicious. For a while there she’d been so cocooned in the rush of the water she’d all but forgotten the world outside. If only. 

“What?” Fitz pressed, releasing his legs and turning at last, Skye’s softness and his own curiosity beginning to win out. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Skye said, waving him off again. Fitz’s frown deepened. 

“No, I want to know,” he insisted. “Why are you smiling? You seemed really mad before. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Skye looked up at him, at his sincerity, and pursed her lips. 

“You’re cute,” she said. “But I’m smiling because… of things that could have been. I guess. You were reminding me of the fact I was mad and I thought about _why_ I was _so_ mad and…” 

“You’re mad at my face?” Fitz wondered. “Something about my lips? Or was it hips?” 

“Oh. Wow I got real irrational in there for a second didn’t I?” 

“In your defence, I wasn’t following all of it.” 

Fitz offered her a little, coaxing smile and Skye shook her head again. She took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly, sobering up again.

“Look,” she confessed. “The truth is… I was starting to have, um. Feelings. Of a Feelings sort of nature. Towards, um. You. Do you remember after I got shot and you sat by my bedside all night? I woke up and you’d fallen asleep, you hadn’t let anyone take your place all night. I don’t know, it was sweet, I started… falling for you, or whatever, and one of the reasons I’m so mad is- is that- um.” 

She was not trying to be coy this time, it was just that, looking at Fitz in the face – his attentive eyes, his softness, his pain – it became much harder to be mad. The words wanted to die on her tongue but she’d come this far, so she forced them out: 

“Look, it’s not you, okay? It’s Ward I’m mad at. I can’t be with someone who’d defend that Nazi bastard. That’s all.”

Fitz took a moment to absorb what she’d said. He blinked. Then he baulked. 

 _“Defend_ him? That’s what you think I’m doing?” 

“Um, what part of ‘I don’t think he’s evil’ isn’t defending him?” 

“Um, _any_ of it?” Fitz waved out the doorway, to where they’d had that conversation just a few hours ago. “I said I don’t think anyone is born evil. I said there must be a reason he’s doing what he’s doing. ‘Defending him’ make it sound like I’m saying ‘it’s okay that he kicks puppies, it’s because he’s sad’. No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying, if we can figure out why he’s being a-“ 

“A Nazi bastard?” 

“- then maybe we can figure out how to, you know, _not_ make him a Nazi bastard. He doesn’t seem to actually believe Hydra’s ideology, which means he’s there for some other reason. Personal gain, some kind of twisted loyalty, I don’t know yet. But don’t you think he deserves a chance to come back to our side?” 

A tiny flame of mercy flickered in Daisy’s chest and died again. 

“He’s a grown-ass man, Fitz.” 

“A man who’s never been shown that he has a _choice,”_ Fitz insisted. Skye rolled her eyes and he sighed; frustrated, struggling to explain a deep and abiding lifelong philosophy that he’d never really had to put into words until now. 

“All I’m saying is,” he clarified, “people can change. Ward can change. Or has changed. Or something. Something’s going on, that’s all I’m trying to say. It’s not as simple as the fact that he’s a Nazi and always will be a Nazi and there’s no hope and the world is darkness. I believe, I have to believe, that… most people want to do good, and that if they can – and if they _know_ they can – then there’s a chance for redemption. There’s a chance. That’s all.” 

Skye nodded. She could respect that, at least. Admire his optimism. In fact, if she were being honest, something about what he was saying struck sparks from the undying embers of her compassionate heart, even buried as it was underneath the anger and pain and confusion in the aftermath of this betrayal. It made her feel warmer, more settled and more complete, in places that even scalding hot water, with surprisingly good pressure for a place this cheap, could not reach. 

“I hope so,” she agreed. “I really do.” 


	24. MackElena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mack finds out Elena is bi.
> 
> During a Spanish conversation over pool, Mack wonders if he misheard Elena. He didn't.
> 
> Fluff. Rated light T for some mild innuendo/sexual themes.  
> Disclaimer: I don't know Spanish, nor do I know how widespread 'que funny' is, you can thank/blame ODAAT I couldn't resist

_“…mi novina-“_

The word rolled right off her tongue, and if Elena had not paused in that moment to concentrate effort on her shot, Mack might never have caught it. The wheels of Spanish grammar turned in his mind and he wondered if he, at this level, could correct her - or if she was about to correct him, for some assumptions he had been making. He bounced the rubber butt of his pool cue against the ground, pretending to observe and strategise with the new arrangement of the balls. But it was a foregone conclusion: his careful lack of a response was a response in and of itself and the likelihood of him not being called out on that dropped to zero in a split second, when he caught Elena eying him across the table. She leaned against her cue pointedly, teasing him as she drew out the silence she’d caught him in. Oh, man. 

Well, there was nothing else for it now. What’s done was done. So - a little timidly, not that he would admit that (and not that she didn’t already know) - Mack cleared his throat and queried - 

“ _¿Cómo?_ Shouldn’t it be _novino?”_

“No,” Elena corrected. “I’m still talking about Mariana.” 

There was a slight smile on her face, just like the one she got when she was about to sneak past him and win at pool. Mack groaned silently: she was enjoying this way too much. He was never going to live this down. 

“I thought she was just- just a friend?” 

Elena shook her head, laughing at the sheer number of times she had heard variations on a theme. 

“ _Maria_ was my friend,” she explained. “ _Mariana_ was my girlfriend. _Mi novina._ I’m bisexual, Mack. That word is similar here, no? It means I have had girlfriends and boyfriends too. And you.” Elenapaused to give Mack an earnest smile, because as much as she loved to rib him, she loved to remind him how dear he was to her heart - and part of that fondness was real for Mariana too. “We met back in Colombia, when I worked at the museum. She did a lot of the art restoration. Her handiwork was beautiful.”  

There was a thoughtful little purr at the end there, in a tone Mack very much recognised. Biting his tongue, he bent over to take the shot. She wasn’t about to let him goad him into putting his foot in his mouth, and that was something he predicted he could do quite easily on this subject. 

“Hm, what?” Elena teased, cocking her hip against the table and turning her head to a ridiculous angle as if the power of her gaze would distract Mack, as she tried to catch his eye and he tried surprisingly hard to stay focused. “Nothing to say about my beautiful girlfriend, Turtle Man?” 

“Nope,” Mack insisted, lining up the shot. Staring straight down the end. Plotting the balls in his mind. “Nothing except that I know it’s _mi novia hermosa_ and not _mi hermosa novia.”_  

“Ha ha ha. _Qué funny_.”

He could sense Elena making her way around the table toward him, and yet- _and yet-_ he couldn’t bring himself to hurry up already and make the damn shot. 

“Nothing about her… handiwork?” Elena mused. The attempt to distract him was obvious, and yet, he was distracted. She was infuriating. And God help him, he loved it. 

“I don’t know the word for handiwork,” Mack offered, “but it’s no contest. I reckon I could make a decent frame, but I’m sure her art is way more beautiful than mine.” 

He lifted his eye from the line of the cue, straightened a little, and turned to stare her in the face - just inches away - because there was no way he was about to take his shot when her next line had to be: 

“That’s not the handiwork I was talking about.” 

They stared each other down for a few seconds until one of them - both of them, not that they’d admit it, or how much they loved it - dropped the ball and let their eyes fall to the lips.

“So…” Mack proposed, “shall we call this halftime or…?”


End file.
